


Skippy!Rat Series

by fhsa_archivist



Category: The X-Files
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-05-19
Updated: 2005-05-19
Packaged: 2019-02-05 16:47:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 27,187
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12798435
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fhsa_archivist/pseuds/fhsa_archivist
Summary: Spanky time!  The Rat has a job interview.





	1. Skippy Rat I:  Interview with the Rat

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Haven, the archivist: This story was originally archived at [Fandom Haven Story Archive (FHSA)](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Fandom_Haven_Story_Archive), was scheduled to shut down at the end of 2016. To preserve the archive, I began working with the OTW to transfer the stories to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in November 2017. If you are this creator and the work hasn't transferred to your AO3 account, please contact me using the e-mail address on [Fandom Haven Story Archive collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/fhsa/profile).

 

Pairing: Skinner/Krycek

Rating: Adult for m/m spanking

Spoilers: None

Disclaimer: Not mine, I just play with them when no one’s looking.

Status: New/Series. Prequel to the Skippy!Rat series.

Comments: I’m back, baby! 

Summary: Spanky time! The Rat has a job interview. 

Warnings: Pure discipline, spanking, language

Thanks: To Ursula for technical assistance and lightning-fast last minute beta, thanks also to Helen and Gaby for a late-night read throughs and to Bianca, Ursula and Linda for putting together a community effort to cheer our beloved Wolfie. Extra special thanks to Gaby for constant encouragement and to Ursula for the cover art. 

Dedication: For Wolfie. Feel better soon, sweetie!

Author’s Note: This story is based on a post Ursula made in her livejournal. She found a great picture and made a comment about Alex sneaking into the FBI at seventeen to try to get a job. I naturally said something spanky and one thing led to another. *g* I don’t know if an A.D. would actually interview prospective candidates for the F.B.I. but today, he does. ;)

 

 

Interview with the Rat

 

By Lorelei

 

 

The intercom buzzed and Assistant Director Walter Skinner looked up from his paperwork, annoyed at the interruption. He punched the button with a blunt finger.

 

“Yes, Kim,” he said brusquely.

 

“Sir? There’s one more applicant to see you.”

 

“Hmm,” Skinner said, surprised. He pressed the intercom button again and reached for the pile of folders on the corner of his desk. “I thought the last one was,” he paused and glanced at the topmost folder in his hand, “Avila.”

 

“Sorry, Sir,” Kim said. “I guess Personnel forgot to let me know there would be four instead of three this afternoon.”

 

“All right, Kim,” Skinner said resignedly, glancing at his watch. It certainly wouldn’t be the first time Personnel had thrown him a curveball. “Send him in.”

 

Skinner straightened his tie and got his notepad out, ready to jot down his thoughts on yet another candidate for Quantico. His stomach rumbled and he frowned. He’d planned on stepping around the corner for a plate of lasagna at Rossano’s, but thanks to his unexpected visitor he’d have to settle for a deli sandwich at his desk.

 

Kim opened the door and stepped inside, smiling apologetically.

 

“Sir? Alex Krycek to see you.”

 

She moved aside and a young man walked in. Kim stepped out, closing the door softly behind her. Skinner rose from his desk, extending his hand in greeting.

 

“Mr. Krycek.”

 

The young man grinned and grabbed Skinner’s hand, pumping it enthusiastically.

 

“It’s an honor to meet you, Sir.”

 

He continued to shake Skinner’s hand vigorously, squeezing it as hard as he could. Skinner winced slightly and smiled, giving the young man a once-over. Damn, the recruits were looking younger and younger these days. Or maybe he was just getting old, he thought with an internal sigh. This kid didn’t look old enough to cross the street, despite the ridiculous little mustache he’d grown in an obvious attempt to look older. He was also extremely nervous, but Skinner wasn’t one to frown on that. Too many men in his position had forgotten what it was like to be young and eager to make his mark in the world. Walter Skinner didn’t expect a candidate to come in the door already seasoned. That was what was Quantico was for. What he looked for was honesty, integrity and a genuine desire to protect and serve.

 

Skinner’s fingers were beginning to go numb. He politely pried them out of Krycek’s eager grasp.

 

“That’s quite a kung fu grip you have there, Krycek,” he said, shaking the feeling back into his fingers. Krycek flushed nervously and fidgeted. He had one arm tucked oddly behind him, causing his too-large suit to bunch up at the shoulders.

 

“Sorry, Mr. Skinner.”

 

Skinner smiled a little, to put the boy at ease. He sat down behind the desk and picked up his pen. He jotted Krycek’s name at the top of his notepad. 

 

"I...I brought flowers!"

 

Skinner stopped writing and looked up, his eyebrows raised.

 

“I beg your pardon?”

 

Krycek stood there, blinking nervously, that same terrified grin pasted on his youthful face. In one hand was indeed a large bouquet of flowers. Chrysanthemums, by all appearances.

 

Skinner stared at him, his eyebrows raised. “You brought flowers?”

 

“Uh, yes Sir,” Krycek said hesitantly. The fact that this might not have been the most appropriate gesture seemed to be beginning to dawn on him. A red flush crept slowly up from his shirt collar. "I..." 

 

Skinner shook his head. He’d seen candidates try to ingratiate themselves with their interviewer before but this was definitely a first. He cleared his throat, breaking the awkward silence.

 

“Well,” he said quietly, standing up and walking around the desk. “Why don’t I just put these over here.” He took the flowers from the younger man’s hand and placed them on a small table at the other end of the room.

 

Skinner seated himself behind his desk again. He made another discreet notation: add’l psych eval. He gave Krycek a sidelong glance and then chided himself. Come on, Walt. Give him a chance to save the interview. It would be a shame to lose out on a fine potential agent just because he was nervous and did something stupid. After all, if doing stupid things were enough to derail a career with the F.B.I., Fox Mulder would be working somewhere else, making another boss go prematurely bald.

 

“Now, have a seat, Mr. Krycek, and tell why you want to be an F.B.I. agent.”

 

Krycek sat down nervously in one of the chairs across from the Assistant Director.

 

“I’ve dreamed of being an F.B.I. agent since I was a little boy,” Krycek said, his luminous green eyes wide and eager. “It’s all I’ve ever wanted, Sir.”

 

Skinner caught himself staring into those green eyes for a moment, then forced himself to look away. Silly mustache and poor fashion sense aside, candidate Alex Krycek was definitely pretty. Almost too pretty. Skinner shifted in his chair a little and cleared his throat again, getting back to business.

 

“Just graduated?” he asked, pen at the ready.

 

“Yes, Sir,” Krycek answered brightly. “Magna cum laude from Temple University."

 

“Very impressive,” Skinner murmured approvingly as he wrote. “What was your major?”

 

“Computer science, Sir,” Krycek answered. “With a minor in Russian.”

 

Skinner raised his eyebrows again, this time in pleasant surprise. “Excellent.” He looked up, giving the boy an assessing look. He had to admit, the flowers had been a huge gaffe, and most of Skinner’s colleagues would probably have shown Krycek the door. But Skinner liked what he was hearing. This boy could well turn out to be a diamond in the rough. “Tell me more about why you want to work for the Federal Bureau of Investigation.”

 

Krycek took a deep breath and began, looking right into Skinner’s eyes as he spoke. “I love this country, Sir. I want to dedicate my life to protecting American citizens. I want to put the bad guys behind bars.”

 

Skinner nodded, taking notes as he listened. “Very good, Mr. Krycek,” he commented. “Now tell me a little more about yourself.”

 

Krycek smiled that all-American, megawatt smile again and chattered excitedly about his childhood in Pennsylvania, his pride at becoming an Eagle Scout (earning an approving nod from Skinner, an Eagle Scout himself) and his illustrious academic career at Temple. He blushed a little and his eyes became bright as he described his graduation just a few months before, how his whole family had come together to see him walk across the stage, even his elderly grandparents all the way from the Ukraine.

 

Skinner listened, nodding. He was feeling pretty proud of himself. He prided himself on having an eye for talent and he had a feeling that it was definitely going to pay off with Krycek. True, the kid’s entrance had been a disaster, but he definitely had the raw material. The overeager puppy quality could be trained out of him, and the rest would come with experience. Skinner had already filled a page with notes on their conversation thus far, and while Krycek still had a battery of tests to go through, Skinner had a gut feeling this kid had the potential to be a damn fine field agent.

 

“Well, Mr. Krycek,” Skinner said. “You’ve got a considerable way to go in the application process, but so far, I’d say you’re definitely the sort of bright young man we’re looking for.”

 

Krycek beamed. “Oh, thank you, Sir,” he said eagerly. “This is a dream come true for me. Just to be here at the J. Edgar Hoover Building, to have the chance to go to Quantico...it's just all I've ever wanted." 

 

Skinner wrote for a moment, filling the last few lines of the page with his neat script. He looked up.

 

“I’m going to rec-“ 

 

He halted in mid-sentence. He blinked several times, unsure of what he was seeing.

 

Krycek sat beaming, his eyes wide and guileless, oblivious to the fact that his mustache had come loose. One end stuck straight out, its furry tip moving almost imperceptibly in the slight breeze created by the air conditioning system, like a friendly caterpillar waving hello.

 

Skinner stared at him, speechless.

 

Krycek continued to smile, every inch the bright young college grad poised to embark on a stellar career in law enforcement.

 

Skinner took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes. He put his glasses back on. 

 

It didn’t help. 

 

Skinner cleared his throat.

 

“Mr. Krycek,” he said, his tone deliberately casual. “How old did you say you are?”

 

“Twenty-one, Sir,” Krycek answered, puffing his chest out a little.

 

Skinner put down his pen. He pushed back his chair and stood. Slowly, deliberately, he leaned across the desk and reached toward Krycek.

 

Krycek froze, his eyes widening.

 

Skinner’s fingers pinched the end of Krycek’s mustache and, in one deft motion, ripped it off.

 

“OW!” Krycek yelped, one hand flying to his mouth.

 

Skinner stood, the offending strip of hair dangling from his fingers. His dark brown eyes pinned the embarrassed young man to his chair.

 

“Mr. Krycek,” Skinner said tightly. “Would you care to explain this?”

 

Krycek was suddenly attempting to look everywhere except in Skinner’s direction.

 

The Assistant Director’s large hand came down flat on the oak desk with a resounding whack. Krycek jumped and cowered in his chair, peeping fearfully up at Skinner through a thick fringe of lashes.

 

"I...uh..." he stammered.

 

Skinner gave him a look that would have had agents with fifteen years experience shaking in their shoes. He walked over to the trash can and tried to drop the fake mustache in, but it stuck firmly to his fingers. Gritting his teeth, Skinner made several attempts to scrape it off on the side of the can. It refused to budge. Finally, he snatched up a crumpled piece of paper from the bottom of the can and used it to pry the sticky disguise from his fingers. He dropped the paper into the can with disgust and turned back to the boy. Krycek had slid down low in the chair, his face hidden by a shock of dark hair that had fallen into his eyes. One slender hand picked nervously at the upholstery on the arm of the chair.

 

Skinner walked back to his desk and leaned against the front of it, his arms folded. He regarded Krycek with a steely gaze.

 

“Now,” he said sternly. “Why don’t we try this again. How old are you?”

 

Krycek squirmed in his chair and mumbled. Skinner was running out of patience.

 

“Look at me when I talk to you, boy!” he barked. “And sit up straight!”

 

Krycek paled and reluctantly obeyed. He pushed his hair out of his eyes and looked at Skinner guiltily.

 

“I told you,” he said, his voice almost a whine. “I’m twenty-one.”

 

He attempted to hold Skinner’s gaze but Skinner stared him down. Skinner leaned down, his stern brown eyes inches from the boy’s pale face. “You want to stick to that story, boy?”

 

Krycek bit his lip and looked down. “No, Sir.”

 

Skinner put his hands on his hips. 

 

“Then you’d better start talking, right now. And it had better be the truth.”

 

Krycek twisted his hands in his lap nervously. Skinner watched, his empty stomach protesting loudly. He glared at the boy. To think this snot-nosed kid took up his entire lunch hour with some stupid prank. And how the hell did he get in here, anyway? Skinner didn’t know but he intended to find out, and when he did, heads were going to roll.

 

Krycek was gnawing his lip, stalling for time. Skinner had had enough. He reached for the phone.

 

“Wait!” Krycek cried. His shoulders slumped in defeat and he hung his head. “I’m seventeen,” he said miserably.

 

Skinner shook his head in amazement. Imagine, a seventeen year-old kid talking his way into the A.D.’s office and actually trying to bullshit his way through an interview for Quantico! Trying to, Walt? Skinner thought ruefully. If his mustache had been glued on a little better he’d have shown up for his entrance examinations with your letter of recommendation in his pocket. Skinner sat, giving Krycek a glare that would have sent even Agent Mulder running for cover. Krycek sat dejectedly, having the good sense to look very, very ashamed. 

 

“Do you have any idea how much trouble you’re in, young man?” Skinner growled. “I am a very busy man. I have hundreds of federal agents under my supervision. I do not have time for childish pranks.”

 

Krycek looked up, his bottom lip poked out. “It’s not a prank,” he said mulishly.

 

Skinner had teenaged nephews and knew that look well. 

 

“Lose the attitude, son,” he said sternly. He reached for the telephone again, this time picking it up and starting to dial. “I don’t know how you managed to get up to this floor but I intend to find out. When Security gets here, they’ll call your parents to come and get you.”

 

Krycek looked at Skinner beseechingly.

 

“No!” he cried. “Please don’t call Security! Please let me explain!”

 

Skinner paused, the receiver in his hand.

 

“I’ve heard your cock and bull story, Mr. Krycek,” he said grimly. “Magna cum laude from Temple University, as I recall. That’s quite a feat at your age.”

 

Krycek looked down, his face red. A moment later, the unmistakable sound of sniffling emanated from under the sheaf of black hair.

 

Skinner sighed. He put the phone down and regarded the boy slumped miserably in the chair. He paused, knowing he was going to regret not making that call. The boy looked up, his green eyes wet and sorrowful. Skinner groaned inwardly. His mother always said he had a soft spot for kids and animals. And damn if the boy didn’t remind him of his sister’s boy Peter. An unfailing knack for getting into trouble and the ability to wrap his Uncle Walter around his little finger.

 

“All right, boy,” Skinner said. His voice was gruff but his eyes were a little softer than before. “I’ll hear what you have to say.”

 

Krycek looked up pleadingly. "I...I know I was wrong, Sir. I shouldn't have lied. But please believe me...I really DO want to be an F.B.I. agent. That part wasn't a lie. I want it more than anything else in the world!"

 

Skinner nodded. He saw the eagerness on the boy’s face, and he saw the frustration too. He remembered what it was like to be seventeen years old and champing at the bit to get off the farm and follow his dreams. He looked at Krycek, nodding his understanding.

 

“Well, Mr. Krycek,” he began, making sure to keep his tone stern, “I’m glad you realize you were wrong. This is a federal building and you got into my office under false pretenses. That is a very serious matter.” Krycek nodded, gulping a little. Skinner let a little more warmth creep into his voice. “I know you want to go to Quantico, son. And considering the ingenuity I’ve seen you display today, I’m prepared to say that one day you’re going to make a fine agent.”

 

Krycek brightened, smiling shyly up at Skinner. "You...you really think so, Sir?"

 

Skinner folded his arms across his broad chest. “Boy, with your nerve, I believe you can do anything.”

 

Krycek grinned happily for a moment, but then his bottom lip started poking out again.

 

“’One day’”, he said sullenly. “It’s always ‘one day’.” He looked up at Skinner angrily. “I’m sick of waiting to get out of high school! I’m sick of waiting to get out of Philly! I’m ready NOW.”

 

Skinner looked at Krycek. He really did feel sorry for the kid. He knew what it was like to want something so badly, to dream so hard it ached.

 

“I know you are,” he said, his eyes kind. “But you have to go to college, Alex. You have to have a degree before you can go to Quantico.”

 

The boy looked away. “But it’s not fair,” he sulked.

 

Skinner reached over and patted the boy on the shoulder. “I know,” he said. “But you’re just too young. You just concentrate on completing your education. The F.B.I. will still be here when you get your degree.”

 

Krycek stood up abruptly and began pacing, his fists jammed in the pockets of his wrinkled suit jacket. 

 

"I'm not leaving," he said stubbornly. "There's got to be a way. Some kind of...apprenticeship or something. No way am I waiting another four years!"

 

“That’s enough,” Skinner said sternly. Damn, the kid was persistent! “You cannot enter Quantico at seventeen and that’s the end of it.”

 

“Fuck that!” Krycek yelled. “You don’t understand! I’m ready now! I don’t need college!” He continued to pace, mad as hell at the injustice of the world, working himself into a fit. He glared at Skinner. “You’re the big man in charge, all those hundreds of agents, right? You can get Quantico to make an exception! You just don’t want to!”

 

“That’s enough!” Skinner roared. “Watch your mouth, young man, and lower your voice while you’re at it. I’m calling Security to come and get you.” He picked up the phone again and dialed, looking at Krycek over his shoulder. “You’re a very determined young man but you need to come back when you’re dry behind the ears.”

 

Skinner was dialing the last number when a hand suddenly reached across the desk and mashed the buttons down, cutting off his call. Skinner turned and looked at Krycek, astonished at the boy’s nerve.

 

“What in the hell do you think you’re doing, boy?” Skinner growled.

 

Krycek stood, his color high, tears standing bright in his eyes. His hands hung clenched at his sides. 

 

“I’m not leaving!” he shouted again. “I’m not some dumb kid! I’m not!”

 

Skinner put the phone down and glared at Krycek. "I said..." he began calmly, "that is ENOUGH!" He roared the last word loudly enough to make the boy back up a step.

 

“Fuck you!” Krycek yelled, close to tears. “No way am I going back to Philadelphia!” 

 

Skinner leaned across the desk, his hands flat on the polished wood. “I’m telling you for the last time, boy,” he snapped. “Watch. Your. Mouth.”

 

Krycek hesitated. Skinner could see him weighing the options, deciding what to do.

 

Unfortunately for Krycek, he made the wrong decision.

 

“FUCK YOU!” he screamed, his frustration boiling over. “Stop treating me like a little kid!”

 

Skinner snapped. He stormed around the desk and grabbed the boy by the arm. “You don’t want to be treated like a little kid?” he demanded, giving Krycek a little shake. “Then stop acting like one!”

 

“Fuck! Let me go!” Krycek shouted. The trembling in his voice belied his bravado. He looked up at the angry A.D., his eyes defiant even as he trembled in Skinner’s grasp. “I said let me go, you bastard!”

 

The kid was being a one hundred percent, grade-A, dyed-in-the-wool brat. And Skinner knew exactly how to deal with a brat.

 

Krycek suddenly found himself being hauled over to the A.D.’s chair. Skinner sat down and the boy was immediately upended over his knee. Krycek squawked in protest, his face inches from the deep blue carpet.

 

“I warned you,” Skinner intoned ominously. “Several times. You may be a bright, ambitious and extremely resourceful young man, but you have a LOT to learn about respect.”

 

“Wh-what are you doing?” Krycek yelped in distress. “Let me go!”

 

“I will,” Skinner said calmly. “Just as soon as we’re done here.”

 

“Noooooo!” the boy wailed. “We’re done! I swear! I’ll go!”

 

“Sorry,” Skinner said, flipping the bottom of Krycek’s suit jacket up over his back. “You had your chance.”

 

With that, he raised his hand and briskly swatted Krycek’s bottom.

 

“OW!” Krycek yelled, his mouth a perfect “O” of disbelief. “You can’t do this! I’ll sue!”

 

“Go ahead,” Skinner said, smiling as he brought his hand down again smartly across both gabardine-covered cheeks. “I know a good attorney. I’ll give you his number, just as soon as I’m done applying a little attitude adjustment to the seat of your pants.”

 

Krycek yelped and pleaded as Skinner began spanking him in earnest, peppering his backside with hard, well-placed swats. The boy struggled, pleaded, whined and, finally, hung his head and sobbed, but Skinner didn’t stop until he was sure the lesson was learned. He landed one last crisp swat right on the boy’s sit spot, which was answered by a howl of misery from below.

 

Skinner sat still, just letting the boy lie across his lap and cry. After a moment, he set him on his feet in front of him. Krycek snuffled and wiped his eyes, his chest hitching with a few last, hiccupping sobs. Skinner fished in his pocket and handed him a handkerchief. Krycek took it meekly and mopped his face. He stuffed into his own pocket, and looked down, his face bright red.

 

“I can’t believe you d-did that,” he sniffled.

 

“You earned it,” Skinner said matter-of-factly. 

 

Krycek pouted, knowing Skinner was right but unable to admit it. 

 

“I just wanted it so bad,” he said softly.

 

Skinner nodded. 

 

“I didn’t punish you for sneaking in here like you did,” he said quietly. “I punished you for being rude and disrespectful. I warned you several times not to curse at me. You left me no choice.”

 

Krycek sniffled again and looked up. “So what happens now?” he asked sadly.

 

“Now, I call Security, and they come and take you to call your parents.”

 

Krycek fidgeted a little. "Do...do we really have to involve them?"

 

Skinner raised an eyebrow. Krycek saw it and hung his head again.

 

“Yes, Sir,” he whispered. Finally, after a moment, he shuffled his feet and looked up Skinner through his wet lashes. "I…I'm sorry, Mr. Skinner."

 

Skinner smiled and nodded. “Good boy,” he said, not unkindly. “You’re not a bad kid, Alex. You’ve got a lot of potential. I think once you’re through with college, the F.B.I. will be lucky to have you.”

 

Krycek brightened a little. “You really think so, Sir? "Even after..." he looked down again. "Even after I messed up so bad?"

 

“I think you’ve learned from your mistakes today,” Skinner said gently. “You have a temper, boy, there’s no doubt about that. But you’re not the first young man I’ve seen with a little more fire than might be good for him.”

 

Krycek nodded, downcast. Skinner smiled and continued. “Self-control comes with age and experience, Alex. You keep working on that temper and you’ll learn how to manage it better.”

 

“Yes, Sir,” Krycek said. 

 

Suddenly, the office door opened. Kim stood there, one hand on her hip, obviously not amused.

 

“Mr. Krycek? Your tour group has been looking everywhere for you. And,” she added tartly, “third floor reception would like to have their floral arrangement back.” Krycek looked up, unable to hide a smirk, every bit the guilty schoolboy. Kim looked at Skinner worriedly. “I’m sorry, Sir. I had no idea-“

 

“It’s all right, Kim,” Skinner said, holding up a placating hand. “Just show Mr. Krycek back to his group and make sure his parents are called.”

 

“Yes, Sir,” Kim said, walking over and picking up the bouquet of chrysanthemums. She took Alex’s hand firmly in hers and glanced at his reddened face. "Uh...Sir?" she said, looking at Skinner with concern. "Are you sure everything's all right?"

 

Skinner looked at Krycek. “Well, Alex? Is everything all right?”

 

“Yes, Sir,” Krycek said, his free hand stealing back to rub the seat of his pants. He looked at Skinner shyly. “Thank you, Sir.”

 

“You’re welcome, Alex,” Skinner said, rising and walking to the door. “And I want you to promise to come back and see me in four years,” he said with a smile.

 

Krycek blushed and smiled back. “Yes, Sir,” he said quietly. “I promise.” 

 

 

The End

 

For Wolfie! We love you!


	2. Skippy Rat II:  Just Between Us

Pairing: Mulder/Krycek

Rating: Adult for m/m spanking, language

Spoilers: None

Disclaimer: Fox Mulder and Alex Krycek belong to Fox and 1013 Productions. No profit is being made from their use.

Warnings: This is a discipline story. If that isn't your thing, now's your chance to bail.

Status: New/Series. Loosely set in the Skippy!Rat universe.

Thanks: To HollyIlex, tireless beta and friend. 

Summary: Mulder and Krycek work something out.

Dedication: For my friends. I love you all. 

 

 

Just Between Us

 

By Lorelei

 

 

The door to the basement office flew open and Agent Alex Krycek stormed in, scowling and loosening his tie. Agent Fox Mulder was hard on his heels, barely taking time to slam the door behind him before ripping into his partner.

 

"What the FUCK were you thinking?" he shouted.

 

Krycek slammed his desk drawer hard enough to make his pens and pencils jump in their cup. 

 

"Would you just get the hell off my back?" he snarled, dropping into his chair. "The perp is in custody. No one got hurt. Just give it a rest already!"

 

"The hell I will!" Mulder shouted. "It's a fucking miracle you didn't get your dumb ass shot off and you know it!" 

 

Krycek exhaled sharply and ran his hand through his dark hair. It flopped over his forehead in a way that made him look far younger than his twenty-six years. He looked at Mulder, his jaw clenched. The older man had been berating him nonstop ever since they left the scene of the raid. Krycek was sure he was going to lose his mind if Mulder didn't shut up.

 

"Hey!" Mulder snapped, waving his hand at Krycek. "I'm talking to you!"

 

Krycek glared at him. "Stop fucking yelling at me, Mulder."

 

"You need to be yelled at, you little shit," Mulder growled, annoyed at Krycek's snotty tone. "You need more than that if you ask me!"

 

"Well, who DID ask you?" Krycek retorted. "Stop playing the angry mother hen, Mulder. The raid was a success, we made the collar, so why can't you just be happy about it?"

 

Mulder resisted the urge to snatch the little jerk out of his seat and shake some sense into him. Barely.

 

"Happy?" he repeated incredulously. "Happy? Oh yeah, I'm thrilled that I got saddled with a green recruit who doesn't have any better sense than to enter an unsecured building alone!"

 

Krycek stood up, red to the tips of his ears. His fists were clenched at his sides. Mulder's 'green recruit' comment was the last straw.

 

"I'm telling you for the last time, Mulder," Krycek growled. "Knock it off."

 

Mulder crossed the room and stood toe to toe with Krycek. "And I'm telling *you*, you little prick, if you EVER do anything that stupid again, I'll-"

 

"You'll what?" Krycek demanded, narrowing the already slight space between them. "I'm getting sick and tired of this crap, Mulder. I might be young but I'm an F.B.I. agent, same as you. And-"

 

"That's where you're wrong," Mulder snapped. "You're a *junior* agent, Krycek. Junior! You're my responsibility. And I'm not going to be the one who has to look your mother in the eye and tell her that her son is in a fucking body bag in the Quantico morgue!"

 

Krycek's eyes glittered with rage. "You leave my family out of this."

 

"Let me make something perfectly clear, *Junior* Agent Krycek," Mulder said sarcastically. "Just in case you were out sick the day they taught common fucking sense at the Academy. You don't go into a darkened building and try to take down a psychopathic killer alone. You're supposed to wait for backup. You're supposed to wait for ME."

 

Krycek sat on the edge of his desk, arms folded defiantly. He smirked at Mulder. "That's pretty rich coming from you. How many times did you ditch Scully? You did it to *me* my first fucking day!" He snorted derisively. "You've got one hell of a nerve lecturing me on the finer points of partnership, *Spooky*."

 

Mulder gritted his teeth. The little shit came within inches of death not three hours before, and yet he sat there *smirking*. Krycek obviously had no concept of the seriousness of his actions. 

 

Turning his back on Krycek, Mulder strode to his desk, pulled out his chair and sat down. He logged on to his computer and began typing up his report.

 

Krycek watched him for a few minutes, his stomach beginning to knot with anxiety. Mulder continued to ignore him, typing surprisingly fast for someone using only two fingers.

 

Finally, Krycek could stand it no longer. "So, I guess you're going to try and make me look like an asshole in your report."

 

"I don't have to try, Krycek. The facts speak for themselves."

 

Krycek stood and began pacing. "Yeah, I get it," he snarled. "Can't have anyone stealing the limelight, eh, golden boy? Make me look bad in your report and then YOU get all the credit for capturing Biggs."

 

Mulder stopped typing. "Look, Skippy," he said, clearly out of patience. "You nearly got yourself killed today because you were so intent on proving yourself. I'm not about to cover for you." 

 

"Fuck!" Krycek shouted, stalking back over to his desk and slumping in his chair. He chewed his lip nervously. "And don't call me Skippy," he griped, sounding a lot less fierce than he had a moment before.

 

A heavy silence blanketed the basement office, broken only by the muted clacking of Mulder's keyboard. Krycek sulked at his desk, his fingers worrying at a crumpled Post-It, gradually turning it into smaller and smaller squares until nothing remained but confetti. He swallowed hard, imagining what Mulder was saying about him in his report. The thought of that long walk down the hall to A.D. Skinner's office filled Alex with dread. The young agent had run afoul of his stern boss before, and wasn't eager to repeat the experience.

 

"Um, Mulder..." Krycek began hesitantly, nervously brushing the mangled bits of yellow paper into the trash can beside his desk. "Can we...uh...talk about this?"

 

"We did," Mulder said flatly. "If I recall correctly, your main talking points were mother hen, golden boy and....what else," he paused a moment and looked up, as if trying to remember. "Oh yes," he said, deadpan. "Spooky."

 

Alex cleared his throat. "Um, well...I...I might have been a little...ah..."

 

Mulder looked at Krycek over his glasses, one eyebrow raised. Alex flushed a deeper red and looked down, embarrassed.

 

"I think 'asshole' covers it nicely," Mulder remarked dryly. He started typing again.

 

"Wait!" Krycek said anxiously. "Mulder...I..."

 

Mulder looked at him again, waiting, that same maddeningly bland expression on his face. Krycek bit his lip and slumped in defeat.

 

"I'm sorry," he mumbled. "I fucked up. Okay? I get it."

 

Mulder was unconvinced.

 

"No you don't," he said simply. "I don't think you have any idea how reckless, dangerous and just plain idiotic what you did today was."

 

Krycek looked down again, pouting. It would have been funny if he wasn't in so much trouble. Mulder, of all people, pulling this serious G-man routine. He didn't end up shut away in the basement office by being by the book, that was for damn sure. He was the laughingstock of the Bureau, for God's sake! Not to mention all the times Krycek had walked past Skinner's closed office door and heard him reaming Mulder a new one for his latest misadventure. And yet he had the nerve to lecture Alex like he was a naughty little boy!

 

Krycek sighed. There was no way out of it. He was going to have to develop a taste for crow.

 

"Come on, Mulder," he said pleadingly. "Give me a break."

 

Mulder snorted and turned back to his typing.

 

Krycek was growing panicky. When Skinner found out what he'd done, his ass would be grass. Alex gulped at the thought of standing in front of Skinner's desk, of Skinner's stern brown eyes measuring him up and finding him wanting. The A.D. would have Alex for breakfast, and that was just for starters. Alex would almost certainly be suspended or worse. And even if he kept his job, he'd probably end up pushing papers in some forgotten field office where the corn grew tall and brash young agents too big for their britches couldn't get into trouble.

 

Nervously, Krycek rose and approached Mulder's desk. He stood in front of it, hands clasped penitently behind his back, trying to look as remorseful as humanly possible.

 

"Mulder?" he said softly.

 

Mulder ignored him.

 

"*Please*, Mulder," Krycek begged. "You can't hand in that report. You know what Skinner will do to me!"

 

Mulder looked at Krycek. "You know what he'll do to me if anything happens to you?"

 

"I swear, it'll never happen again," Krycek said, holding his hands out in a conciliatory gesture. "You have my word. Come on, Mulder. Give me another chance."

 

Mulder leaned back in his chair. "Another chance to get yourself killed? No thanks."

 

Krycek wanted to scream with frustration. Why did Mulder have to pick now to become such a stickler for procedure? Having to beg like this was humiliating. He felt his face burning as he fidgeted in front of Mulder's desk like a schoolboy kept after class.

 

"Please," he said again, softly. "Come on, Mulder. You were new once. You know what it's like to want to make your mark!"

 

Mulder got up and went to the printer, plucking the pages off as the machine spit them out. "You almost made your mark, all right," he said over his shoulder. "The kind blood spatter analysts see every day."

 

"Okay, okay!" Krycek shouted. "You made your point! I was reckless. I was stupid. I didn't wait for you. I know I fucked up royally, and I know you're right to be pissed, and I know you have every right to haul me into Skinner's office for it. But I'm asking you not to, Mulder. I'm begging you. It'll ruin my career, you know that."

 

Mulder turned and looked at Krycek, his hazel eyes cool and clear. 

 

"Yes," he said quietly. "I'm aware of that."

 

Krycek hung his head. "This is all I have, Mulder," he said miserably. "The F.B.I. is all I've ever wanted. I can't lose it."

 

Mulder hesitated, the sheaf of papers in his hand.

 

"Krycek..."

 

"Please, Mulder," Krycek said again, his eyes bright. "I...I know how bad I fucked up. I know I deserve to get tossed out on my ass. But if you give me this chance, I swear I'll work hard, every day, to win back your confidence. I'll do anything."

 

Mulder stood for a moment, apparently deep in thought.

 

"All right, Krycek," he said, his tone matter-of-fact. "But don't think you're getting off scot free. You don't want to deal with Skinner, fine. But you still have to deal with me."

 

Krycek blinked. "Wh-what do you mean?" he asked nervously.

 

Mulder leaned casually against the wall, his arms folded. "I mean," he said quietly, "that while I have no interest in seeing you blow your entire career over a single but indisputably boneheaded decision, I also have no intention of letting you off the hook. So make your decision, Krycek. Either Skinner handles it, or I handle it. Right here, right now, just between us."

 

Krycek blushed bright red. "Handle it?" he squeaked. "What-"

 

"Decide," Mulder said firmly. "My report is ready. You'll either answer to him, or you'll answer to me. Either way, you WILL answer for what you did today."

 

Krycek stuffed his hands in his pockets and stared down at his shoes. "I...uh...I pick you," he mumbled. He hoped the floor would open up and swallow him whole, but when it didn't, he sighed resignedly and looked up. "Just between you and me, right? No one else?"

 

"That's what I said," Mulder replied, walking over and locking the office door. He dropped the report on the edge of his desk before slipping his suit jacket off and draping it over his chair. Krycek watched him warily. Mulder was moving with businesslike efficiency, moving things to one side, clearing a space on his desk. Once the piles of paper, miniature alien figures, fake UFO photos and newspaper articles were out of the way, Mulder unbuttoned his cuffs and pushed up his sleeves.

 

Krycek watched him like a mouse watches a hawk. "Um...Mulder?"

 

"Just a minute," Mulder said brusquely. He opened his top drawer, glanced inside, and closed it again. Krycek stood rooted to the spot, hands opening and closing anxiously, his stomach turning nervous somersaults. Just what the hell was Mulder planning to do?

 

"All right, Krycek," Mulder said, coming to stand in front of the younger man. "I'm glad you finally realize that you did something dangerous and stupid today. That's going to make this a lot easier for us both."

 

"Going to make what easier?" Krycek asked, his voice cracking a little. He'd never seen Mulder like this before, so solemn, so determined, so in control. It scared him a little. And there were other feelings...feelings he was trying hard not to think about at the moment.

 

"Your punishment," Mulder said simply. 

 

Krycek gulped. Did he have to put it like that? He felt all of seven years old.

 

"Uh...look, Mulder," Krycek said quickly, stepping back a little. "I kind of thought we were just going to talk it over, you know, something like that."

 

"We'll talk," Mulder replied. "But first, you need to take off your jacket. Then unbutton your pants and drop them to your knees."

 

Krycek's eyes bugged. "Wh-what?!?" he choked.

 

Mulder frowned. "You heard me," he said firmly. "I'm not playing around here, Krycek. I said I would deal with you and I meant it. Now," he added, glancing at the report that lay just a few inches away, "either obey my instructions so we can get this over with, or take your chances with Skinner."

 

"But Mulder," Krycek whined, gripping his jacket tightly, "you can't really mean to-"

 

"I can and I do," Mulder said, his tone even and resolute. "This is your last chance to choose. It's me or Skinner. It doesn't matter to me either way. But if you choose me, we handle things my way."

 

Krycek's throat was dry and it made a soft clicking sound as he swallowed. He bit his lip and looked down at the floor.

 

Nope. Still not opening up and swallowing him.

 

"Fuck!" Krycek grumbled under his breath, a sense of disbelief coming over him as he slowly took off his jacket and laid it on his desk. He felt a flush creeping over his entire body as he fumbled with his pants, at last getting them unzipped and pushed down to his knees.

 

He stood there in his black boxers, feeling like the world's biggest dork. Of course, he thought to himself. F.B.I. agents order their partners to drop their pants all the time. I'm sure it happens hundreds of times a day.

 

"Good," Mulder said, interrupting Krycek's reverie. "Now the boxers."

 

"No fucking way!" Krycek snapped, clutching them desperately. "Jesus, Mulder!"

 

"Okay," Mulder said, shrugging. He picked up the report and started toward the door.

 

"Wait!" Krycek cried. "Just wait, goddammit." Gritting his teeth, he pushed his boxers down. He tugged his shirttail down to cover himself and blinked back tears of outrage. He never thought Mulder would take things this far. 

 

Mulder replaced the report and walked around to his desk drawer. He opened it and took out a wooden ruler. It was oversized, about two feet long, and quite wide. Krycek stared at it, gulping audibly.

 

"O-okay Mulder," Krycek said, backing up. He smiled weakly. "Joke's over. You can stop now. I won't ever do anything like that again."

 

Mulder's gaze was level and calm. "It's no joke," he said quietly. "You're going to bend over my desk and I'm going to apply this ruler to your bare ass until I'm SURE you've learned your lesson. And then I'm going to keep blistering your butt until I'm convinced you'll remember it as long as you live."

 

Krycek's eyes were fixed on the ruler. "Mulder...you can't really be serious," he breathed.

 

"Try me."

 

One look at Mulder's face convinced Alex. It really was no joke. Mulder fully intended to spank him. Alex shook his head. He'd had a feeling that being partnered with Fox Mulder was going to be a one of a kind experience, but he'd never imagined just how unusual it would be.

 

Reluctantly, Krycek shuffled forward until his thighs were pressed against the edge of Mulder's desk. He considered trying once more to make Mulder see reason, but the sight of the damning report lying on the desk beside him made him think twice. Mulder wasn't a patient man on the best of days and Krycek had a feeling he had pushed his luck far enough.

 

He leaned forward and lay awkwardly over the desk, grateful for the coolness of the wood veneer against his flaming cheek. He squeezed his eyes shut tightly. Please just let it be over quickly, he thought. He was suddenly aware of his cock pressing uncomfortably against the hard wooden edge of the desk. He squirmed a little, trying not to think about being here like this, alone with Mulder in the basement office. Bent over the desk, his ass naked and vulnerable, Mulder so close... 

 

He jumped when he felt Mulder's hand on his back.

 

"Relax," Mulder said softly. "It'll hurt more if you tense up." He lifted Krycek's shirttail.

 

"I thought you wanted me to hurt," Krycek said bitterly, unable to stop himself.

 

There was silence behind him. Krycek trembled. Way to go, Alex. When a man is standing behind you getting ready to play "Babaloo" on your bare ass is not the time to cop an attitude.

 

"If that's what you think," Mulder said quietly, "then we really are wasting our time here."

 

Krycek was quiet for a moment. He could hear an undercurrent of hurt in Mulder's tone. He cares. That's why he's so pissed off at me. That's why he's so determined to...to teach me. To make sure I never do it again. Krycek's mind whirled with questions. He felt an almost uncontrollable urge to find out what made Mulder tick, what went on in his mind. What was he thinking right now? What was it about Krycek that brought out Mulder's protective instincts? What made him so sure Krycek would accept his discipline and not go running to Skinner? 

 

Krycek took a deep breath. "No...I don't think that, Mulder. I'm sorry."

 

Mulder was silent for a moment. "Then let's get this over with." He raised the ruler and paused. "I'm not going to lie to you, Krycek. This is going to hurt. A lot. And I hope every single time I whack your ass, you think about how close you came to ending your day on a slab."

 

"Oh God..." Krycek whimpered. His heart pounded. The anticipation of the first whack was almost unbearable. He was sweating, his hands sticky against the fake wood grain. Unbelievable that a spanking could inspire so much fear in him. It's ok, Alex, he thought. Just a few whacks. You can do it.

 

"If you need to yell, go ahead," Mulder said. "No one ever comes down here, not even the cleaning staff."

 

Mulder brought the ruler down right across the center of both pale cheeks. The crack of wood against flesh was deafening in the closed room. Alex yelped. If the burning stripe the ruler left across his ass was any indication of things to come, he was in trouble. He hoped Mulder's arm tired quickly.

 

Mulder whacked him again, leaving another red stripe just below the first.

 

"OW! Jesus, Mulder!"

 

"What is this spanking for, Alex?" Mulder asked. Two more sharp whacks followed in rapid succession.

 

"Ow..." Alex gasped. He winced as the ruler cracked down again. Fuck...it was bad enough that Mulder had him bending over taking an bare-assed spanking like a kid. Did he have to conduct a fucking deposition while he did it?

 

"I asked you a question," Mulder said. The ruler came down hard along the undercurve of Alex's buttocks. 

 

"Ow! Fuck...it's for...it's because I went in without backup!"

 

"And?" Mulder demanded. He brought the ruler down harder, making Alex howl.

 

"Owwwwww Mulder please! I fucked up! I know I did!"

 

"Convince me," Mulder said sternly. "I need to know that you have a crystal clear understanding about what happened today. And how it is never..."

 

WHACK.

 

"going to..."

 

WHACK.

 

"happen again."

 

Krycek was determined not to cry but it was a losing battle. His ass was fiery and throbbing and Mulder showed no signs of letting up. "I..." Krycek managed, the first tears breaking free and sliding down his cheek. "I w-wanted to show off," he admitted, his voice cracking. "I wanted to be the one to take Biggs down. I knew I was supposed to wait for you but I didn't! I went in and he was w-waiting! He...he had a shotgun...if you hadn’t gotten there in time..." he trailed off into sobs. 

 

"That's right," Mulder said grimly. "Another few seconds and he'd have blown you away. That's why you're getting a spanking, Alex. That's why I'm making sure you don't sit down comfortably for a good long time. Because every time you try, I want you to remember what could have happened today."

 

He was spanking the younger man with a steady rhythm now, bringing the ruler down in short arcs, each stroke leaving its mark on Krycek's crimson butt. Krycek was starting to buck under the ruler, trying to get away as it smacked down again. 

 

"Come on, Mulder," Krycek whined between sobs. "You don't have to do this!" He tried to push himself up off the desk.

 

"Oh yes I do," Mulder said sternly. "You earned this, Krycek. Every last bit of it." He leaned forward slightly, using his right arm to keep Krycek in place. The younger man was sobbing hard now. It was time to drive the point home and then put the matter to rest, for good.

 

He dropped down for a few hard whacks across the tops of Krycek's thighs. Krycek yelled, gripping the sides of the desk with white knuckles.

 

"Pleeeeease," he begged through his tears. "I'm sorry!"

 

"You sure, Alex?" Mulder said. It was hard to hear Krycek's cries, hard to see him suffering. But it was necessary. Mulder was the senior agent and Krycek needed guidance, needed it badly. He was young, eager and entirely too cocky for his own good. And, Mulder reflected grimly, the pain of a spanking was nothing compared to the pain of getting blasted with a twelve gauge. "I need to be sure. I've seen you try to bullshit your way out of trouble before."

 

"Y-yes!" Krycek shouted, wincing as Mulder landed another blow right on the sit spot. "I swear to God, Mulder, I'm sorry! I'm sorry! I know I was wrong!"

 

Mulder nodded, shifting slightly to make sure he was covering the area uniformly. His arm was starting to ache and he was pretty sure he was going to be wearing an impression of the ruler on the palm of his hand for a while, but it seemed he was also succeeding at making an impression on Krycek, and that was far more important.

 

"Tell me, Alex," Mulder said firmly, the whacks coming hard and fast now, building to a crescendo, "are you ever...EVER...going to pull a fucking stupid stunt like that again?"

 

"Nooooo!" Krycek howled, his face wet with tears. "I swear! I won't ever do it again! Never!"

 

"You're going to wait for backup...always...no matter how long it takes?" 

 

"YES!" Krycek yelled. "Yes, I swear, Mulder! I swear I'll wait!"

 

"You'd better be telling me the truth, Alex," Mulder warned, laying the final three licks down hard. "Or I promise you, this is going to seem like a game of pattycake when I'm done with you."

 

"Yes, Mulder," Alex sobbed. "It's the truth! I promise!"

 

"Then we're done," Mulder said, throwing the ruler down. 

 

He helped Alex stand. The younger man stood with his head bent, his hair in his eyes. He made an abortive attempt to pull up his boxers but stopped short. The thought of pulling even lightweight cotton over his burning backside was just too much. He felt about as miserable as he'd ever felt in his life, standing there in front of Mulder, his hero, his idol, with his pants down around his knees, snuffling like a little kid.

 

Mulder looked at Krycek. "You okay?"

 

"Y-yeah," Krycek said, his chest hitching. He looked up, his eyes wet. The anger and defensiveness were long gone. There was nothing left but acceptance and sorrow. "I...I really am sorry, Mulder. For everything. For screwing up like I did and for making you have to...you know."

 

"Yeah," Mulder said softly. "I know."

 

He reached out and slowly, gently, pulled Krycek into his arms. Krycek's eyes were wide and startled over Mulder's shoulder, but then slowly drooped closed as he settled into the older man's embrace. Krycek buried his face in Mulder's shirtfront, breathing in the intoxicating scent that was uniquely his. I'd know that scent anywhere, Krycek thought, his arms tentatively wrapping themselves around Mulder's waist. In a crowd of a million people, I could find him. There's no one like him, no one.

 

Krycek turned his face to the side, his tears blotting the white fabric. "I'm so sorry," he whispered again. As much as his ass hurt at that moment, it was nothing compared to the ache that came from knowing he'd let Mulder down.

 

"Shhh," Mulder said soothingly. "It's over now. It's forgotten. I hope you know how much I hated doing that, Alex." Mulder paused for a moment, one hand rubbing Krycek's back. "And I hope you know that I won't hesitate to do it again if that's what it takes."

 

Krycek nodded against Mulder's chest and was rewarded by the feeling of Mulder's arms tightening around him. Krycek clung to him. He could hear Mulder's heartbeat in his ear, steady and comforting. Krycek's ass throbbed and burned. He definitely didn't want to get another spanking like that, ever. But this...this he could get used to. Someone there to care what he did, someone there to keep him in check. Someone to hold him accountable when he did something wrong. 

 

Mulder swallowed hard, his cheek resting against Krycek's glossy dark hair. "I lost one partner," he said, his voice strained with emotion. "I can't go through it again. I won't."

 

"You won't lose me," Krycek whispered. "I promise."

 

He looked up at Mulder, his eyes clear and shining with truth.

 

"I'm not going anywhere."

 

 

The End


	3. Skippy!Rat III:  New Recruit

Pairing: Skinner/Krycek 

Rating: Adult for m/m interaction, discipline, language 

Spoilers: Maybe for the early Krycek eps 

Disclaimer: If I ever made a nickel off this I'd have to spend it on a pacemaker. If anybody wants an eight year old car and a fair-to-middling stereo, bring it on. Warning: This story contains spanking between two men. If you don't like this kind of thing, now's your chance to bail. Or you could read the story anyway and write to me and complain, in which case I will forward your mail to all of my friends and we will spend many happy hours laughing at you. 

Status: New/Series. I've always wanted to write a Skippy!Story and this is the first. This snippet is followed by Growing Pains and Saturday with Skinner. 

Thanks: To Xanthe, whose story "The Agreement Part Two" indirectly inspired my burning Skippy!Rat lust and eventually, to rewrite canon history. This is as good a time as any to point out that this series begins more or less as canon and ends up about as AU as it gets. 

Summary: What's to be done with a young agent who misbehaves? AD Skinner has the answer. 

Dedication: To Steve, Gaby and Karen. This is for you. 

 

 

New Recruit 

by Lorelei 

 

 

Assistant Director Walter Skinner frowned over the papers in front of him, ignoring the nervous young agent fidgeting in the doorway. 

 

"Sir?" Krycek ventured nervously. "You wanted to see me?" He swallowed hard as Skinner pinned him to the wall with a harsh glare. 

 

"Sit down, Agent Krycek," he snapped. "I'll be with you in a minute." 

 

Alex stepped quickly over to one of the chairs facing the AD's desk and sat down, perching uneasily on the edge of the seat. He swallowed hard as he realized that the paper in AD Skinner's hand, the paper that seemed to be making Skinner's jaw clench harder and the veins in his forehead stand out in even sharper relief, was in fact the report he himself had submitted that very morning. Alex fidgeted as the AD continued to read, occasionally grumbling and shaking his head. Oh, shit, Alex thought, chewing his lip. Why do I keep letting Mulder get me into these messes? 

 

Alex watched Skinner from under his lashes, his heart pounding triple-time. He'd wondered what it would be like to be on the receiving end of one of Skinner's legendary ass-chewings. He had a feeling he was about to find out. He found his gaze dropping to Skinner's broad shoulders, his muscular arms, muscles toned, hard as the wood of the desk they leaned on. His broad, well-shaped hands, long strong fingers...Alex swallowed again, let his eyes travel back upward, where he was horrified to find his stare met by a pair of very displeased brown eyes. Alex paled and looked down. After a moment, Skinner returned to his ruthless perusal of Krycek's report. 

 

Alex twisted his hands nervously in his lap. Skinner alternately fascinated and intimidated him. He couldn't deny to himself the attraction he felt. But Alex had had enough of drill instructors at Quantico, had been hoping to find a fortunate post under some fat, laconic pencil-pusher. He had been surprised and a bit disconcerted at his first meeting with Skinner. Something in the man's bearing, in the set of his jaw and the deep rumbling sound of his voice as he barked orders at his hapless agents told Alex that there was no slacking in this man's department. He slumped glumly, pondering his misfortune. It would be his luck to end up with an ex-Marine as his boss. 

 

At length, Skinner placed the papers neatly on his desk, folded his hands and regarded Alex in stony silence. Alex tried to stop fidgeting, tried to sit up straight and look appropriately attentive and contrite at the same time, not an easy trick. His stomach roiled and fluttered with that called-to-the-principal's-office feeling he'd had all day, ever since Skinner's secretary Kim had stopped by his desk to tell him that the AD wanted to see him in his office at one o'clock sharp. 

 

Finally, Skinner spoke, his voice deceptively calm. 

 

"Do you know why I called you in here, Agent?" 

 

Alex bit his lip, looked at the report in front of AD Skinner. 

 

"Something about my report, sir?" 

 

He jumped as Skinner's broad hand slammed down on the papers, making the edges ruffle in the resultant gust of air. 

 

"You could say that, Agent Krycek!" he barked. He stood, an imposing figure in his white shirt. He held the offending report in his hand, shaking it in Krycek's general direction. 

 

"You call this a report, boy?" he snapped. 

 

Alex's eyes suddenly went flinty and hard. His own jaw clenched. He hated being called boy. His father had called him boy. His DIs at Quantico had called him boy. He was no boy. He stood up, facing the AD down in his own office. 

 

"Don't call me boy," he growled. Skinner stepped closer, getting into Alex's personal space. 

 

"Sit. Down. Agent. Krycek." 

 

Alex held firm, trembling a little in his cheap suit. The AD towered over him, his face like a thundercloud. 

 

"I SAID SIT DOWN!" 

 

Alex dropped down into the chair, eyes riveted on the carpet, his heart pounding. 

 

Skinner leaned against his desk, his big arms folded, staring down at Alex with a predatory smile on his face. 

 

"So," he said, almost conversationally, "is this what they're teaching the recruits at the Academy these days? To hand in half-assed reports obviously scribbled on the fly, lacking pertinent information, full of sentences that purport to convey fact but actually lead nowhere, and coming to absolutely no conclusion at all, save that the agent who submitted it is off to a very poor start with his new Assistant Director?" 

 

Alex stared mutinously at the carpet. Fucking Mulder. He never should have let Mulder talk him into pub-crawling on a work night. Asshole slammed back the Moscow Mules like they were going out of style and came sashaying into work the next morning looking like a million bucks. Suit pressed, not a hair out of place. Sat at his desk grinning, bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, wolfing down a western omelette while Alex hunkered over his desk feeling like a steel drum band had taken up residence in his brainpan and a taste in his mouth like he'd spent the night licking the inside of every garbage can in Dupont Circle. 

 

It had been quarter to eight when he'd remembered the report. The report that was supposed to be on Skinner's desk at nine sharp. The report that was supposed to explain neatly and in meticulous detail just what he and Agent Mulder had done during their four day sojourn in central Iowa. Not omitting the crop circles, the cattle mutilations and the mysterious glyphs found painted on the side of several grain silos. Also providing an explanation for why no federal agent would ever again be permitted in the Cow and Crab Tavern. Delving into the conundrum of why a report appeared on the local police blotter of two men, whose descriptions were suspiciously close to that of Agents Mulder and Krycek, reportedly seen staggering around in the parking lot of said establishment, drunk as lords, shining flashlights into the night sky and screaming "Come down here, you assholes! We can see your eyes!" And examining quite closely the reasons behind the submission of an invoice to the Federal Bureau of Investigations by one H. P. Sykes of Grummet for a John Deere tractor and a manure spreader. 

 

Shaking and nauseous, Alex had hastily typed the report, every click of his keyboard seeming louder than cannonfire. He'd gotten the report to Skinner at the stroke of nine, then tried to make himself scarce. He hadn't quite succeeded. 

 

"Well, boy, what do you have to say for yourself?" Skinner demanded, interrupting Alex's reverie. The young agent looked away, but not before Skinner saw the glimmer of defiance in those forest green eyes. He smiled to himself. He'd noticed the rookie agent immediately, of course, had found it hard to keep his eyes off him. Even the overzealous use of hair gel and those godawful Sears suits couldn't hide the boy's overwhelming beauty. And he had fire...oh yes. Nervous as a cat and shaking like a schoolboy at the thought of the reaming to come, but that spark, that stubborn spirit shining through. Skinner's smile widened as Krycek's fine-boned hands twisted nervously, as those perfect white teeth nibbled at that lush bottom lip. Oh yes, he thought, a reaming you shall have, my boy. 

 

Alex gulped and finally dared to look up. Skinner's brown eyes were fixed on him, one eyebrow arched, awaiting an explanation. But there was something else, something behind that stern look, something indefinable. 

 

"I..." Alex began, his voice cracking slightly as it issued from a dry throat. "I didn't spend the time on the report that I should have, sir. I-I'm sorry." 

 

He looked down again. Skinner didn't move. After what seemed like an eternity, Alex cautiously looked up. 

 

"Sir? Is that all, sir?" 

 

Skinner scowled. 

 

"I'll let you know, Krycek." 

 

Alex dropped his gaze again. 

 

"Yes, sir." 

 

Skinner continued to perch almost jauntily on the edge of his desk, amused by the young agent's attempt to vanish into the upholstery of the chair in which he sat. 

 

"So tell me, Agent Krycek," Skinner drawled. "What do you think should be done with a young man, new to his position, who puts drinking and carousing ahead of his career? Who comes to the office of the Federal Bureau of Investigations, by which he is employed, hung over and smelling like a brewery? Who hands in slipshod work and hopes to get away with it?" 

 

Krycek's jaw dropped. 

 

"Sir! But I...how..." 

 

Skinner smiled again. 

 

"I had Agent Mulder in here an hour ago. Let's just say he now appreciates the value of thorough and meticulous work. And he now has a very enlighted opinion on the responsibilities of a senior agent. He takes a very dim view now, I don't doubt, of his role in the corruption of his juniors." 

 

Alex looked down at his shoes. 

 

Skinner waited. 

 

"Yes sir," Alex whispered to the carpet. "Agent Mulder and I went out drinking last night. I...I had a little too much and I was still feeling the effects of it this morning. I let it affect my work and I'm sorry, sir. I promise it won't happen again." 

 

Skinner leaned forward until his face was mere inches from Krycek's. Huge green eyes hesitantly met his. Skinner's voice was like distant thunder. 

 

"Oh, you're right about that, young man," he said, his voice almost a whisper. "Because if it ever does happen again, you'll be in so deep they'll have to Fed Ex you daylight. Is that clear, Agent Krycek?" 

 

"Y-yes sir," Krycek mumbled. "M-may I go now, sir?" 

 

Skinner dropped the report on the desk and folded his arms again. Alex gripped the arms of the chair, wanting desperately to get up and flee from the room but not daring to move without Skinner's permission. 

 

"No, Agent Krycek, you may not," Skinner said firmly. "There is the matter of discipline to discuss." 

 

Alex sank back into the chair, his heart sinking as well. A reprimand in his file, and so soon. This would look bad. He gulped and looked at Skinner, trying to read the man's intentions. Was the infraction serious enough to merit suspension without pay? Alex thought nervously of his new apartment and the next month's rent that would soon be due. 

 

"D-discipline, sir?" he squeaked. 

 

Skinner eyed him levelly. 

 

"Yes, Agent," he said quietly. "Discipline. Specifically yours. Punishment, well-earned and well-deserved. Unless you think you don't deserve it?" 

 

Alex swallowed hard. No! No! Tell him no, his mind shrieked. But somehow, he knew that would be the wrong answer to give. 

 

"I...I know I was wrong, sir," he said, softly at first, then more clearly as his voice gathered strength. He lifted his head and looked Skinner in the eye. "I was wrong. I failed to put the Bureau first. I handed in substandard work. I...was disrespectful to you. I'm sorry, sir. I do deserve to be disciplined and I accept whatever disciplinary action you deem fair." 

 

Skinner looked into Krycek's eyes for a long moment, found honesty and acceptance there. He smiled. 

 

"Very commendable, Agent. I'm proud of you for accepting responsibility for your actions." 

 

Alex blushed and dared a small smile. 

 

"Thank you, sir," he said softly. "I'm ashamed of myself for my poor performance and for disappointing you. I only hope you will give me another chance to prove my worth to you and to the Bureau." 

 

Skinner found himself staring, transfixed, at Krycek's peaches and cream complexion, so fetchingly stained a pale pale pink. He'd blushed, actually blushed at Skinner's compliment! He gazed at the lovely young man, who contritely awaited his punishment. 

 

"Agent Krycek?" Skinner said, his voice almost too low to be audible. 

 

"Sir?" Krycek looked up, his expression one of dread and apprehension. 

 

"You said you would accept whatever disciplinary action I deem fair?" 

 

"Yes, sir." 

 

Skinner began to pace, one hand rubbing his chin thoughtfully. Could it work? Did he dare? Sure, it worked with Mulder, but this young man was an unknown quantity. What if he freaked out, went yelling blue murder to the Director? 

 

He turned, only to find Krycek standing, one hand plucking fitfully at the bottom of his hideous suit jacket. 

 

"Sir?" Krycek said hesitantly. "I...please don't suspend me. I swear, I won't let you down again. I know I deserve to be disciplined, but please, give me another chance. Put me on wiretap transcription or reprimand me. But...I...I'm still new, and a suspension now..." 

 

"You'd be finished in the Bureau," Skinner said matter-of-factly. You'd end up transferred to Sioux Falls or Anchorage and never heard from again." 

 

Krycek flushed and looked down. 

 

"Yes, sir." 

 

Skinner stood in front of Krycek, waited for him to meet his gaze. 

 

"What I have in mind, Agent, won't appear on your record at all. No reprimand, no suspension. I see no reason why a bit of youthful overenthusiasm should ruin what promises to be a fine career." 

 

"Sir?" Krycek's eyes widened. 

 

Skinner hesitated, then decided, in for a penny, in for a pound. He couldn't explain it, but there was something about this boy, something that indicated he'd be accepting of Skinner's unorthodox brand of employee discipline. 

 

"You're going to have to trust me, Alex." 

 

The wide eyes grew huge in Krycek's pale face. Skinner saw the look and paused. 

 

"May I call you Alex?" 

 

Krycek blushed-again-and Skinner felt his cock leap appreciatively. God, he was pretty...standing penitently in Skinner's office, a Botticelli angel in a $99 suit. 

 

"Y-yes, sir." 

 

Skinner spoke seriously, his every word the focus of Krycek's rapt attention. 

 

"You've got the makings of a good agent, Alex. You're smart, you're enthusiastic. I've seen your records from Quantico. Outstanding shot, excellent marks. Your instructors had nothing but praise for you." He saw the blush deepen and the beginnings of a smile curving those sensuous lips. He forced himself back to the matter at hand and continued. 

 

"-But—" 

 

Krycek straightened his posture, tucked his head a little as he waited for the reaming to commence. 

 

"You've got a reckless streak, and a bit more attitude than perhaps is advisable, young man. You need discipline, guidance. A firm hand." 

 

Green eyes met brown with the beginnings of understanding. 

 

"What do you propose, sir?" Krycek asked softly. 

 

Skinner went to his desk, unlocked the top drawer and removed a paddle from it. He walked back over to Krycek, whose eyes seemed in danger of swallowing his face. Skinner held the paddle out to Alex, who took it, turning it over in his hands, his face unreadable. It was an old-fashioned American school paddle, wide and flat and admirably suited for the job, with six large holes drilled down the center to ensure a particularly memorable experience for the unfortunate soul whose bottom it encountered. Alex traced a finger over its smooth surface. The paddle was obviously well-worn and well-used, and had been lovingly varnished to a high sheen. Alex looked up quizzically, his heart slamming against his ribcage. Surely Skinner didn't mean to...surely he couldn't...could he? 

 

Skinner took the paddle and placed a hand gently on Alex's shoulder. 

 

"What I propose, Alex, is that you take down your trousers and your underwear and bend over my desk, whereupon I will proceed to take this," he gestured with the paddle, "and ignite a fire on your bare ass, the smoldering remains of which will hopefully remind you in the coming week to place your priorities in the proper order." 

 

Alex hesitated. He had to admit to himself that the idea had a certain appeal. He licked his lips, trying to ignore the stirrings from below his cheap belt. The idea of surrendering his bare butt to this incredibly stern, sexy man, to be spanked, like a naughty schoolboy...Alex shook himself. Getting a visible erection now would definitely complicate things. He cocked his head, looking at Skinner, who waited silently for him to decide. There was another reason to agree, Alex thought. He'd bend over, he'd get paddled, and that would be that. The slate would be clean and he could start fresh, work hard, take care not to end up on Skinner's bad side again. He recalled the compliments Skinner had paid to him a few moments ago, felt a frisson of pleasure in the pit of his stomach. He realized that he badly wanted that feeling. Wanted it often. He wanted Skinner to be proud of him. 

 

"Sir? What...what happens after? I mean..." 

 

Skinner nodded, understanding. 

 

"Once we're done here, Alex, we're done. You bend over, I give you ten of the best, you pull up your pants and the incident is forgotten. You're a good b—man. I know you can be a good agent. I don't mince words, Alex, and I don't bullshit. You take your punishment and then you walk out that door and it's over. Now. Are you prepared to accept this arrangement?" 

 

Alex gulped. "A-arrangement?" he squeaked. 

 

Skinner looked at him evenly. "Yes," he intoned seriously. "I don't do anything halfway, Alex. You need discipline and I'm prepared to give it to you, because I believe in you. I believe you can realize your potential. So the arrangement is not just for today. It's for anytime I find you on the other side of my desk, looking guiltier than sin, and trying to explain to me why you've broken the rules. Is that a problem, Agent?" 

 

Alex paused, biting his lip. "No, sir," he whispered at last. 

 

"Good," Skinner said, with a genuine smile. "All right then. Let's get this over with." He went to the office door and opened it. "Kim? Why don't you run down to the cafeteria and grab lunch now? Would you bring me back a bottle of orange juice? Thanks." 

 

He closed the door and locked it, then gestured toward the desk. 

 

"Go on now, Alex. We won't be disturbed." 

 

Alex hesitated, his face burning. His heartbeat was skittish, his mouth dry. A profound sense of disbelief settled over him. He was really about to bare his bottom to the Assistant Director, who was, by all appearances, going to paddle it with vigor and determination. 

 

Skinner waited patiently while Alex, his face red as a tomato, fumbled with his zipper and finally arranged himself awkwardly over Skinner's desk, his hands grasping the sides in a white-knuckled grip, his face resting on the very evidence of his misdeeds. He felt the cool air wafting against his very exposed butt and moaned involuntarily, utterly humiliated. His gaze fell on the report, bunched up under his cheek. He stiffened his resolve, gripped the desk more tightly and waited. You can do this, Alex. You can do it. 

 

Ten strokes and it's over. 

 

Skinner spoke from behind Alex. 

 

"All right, Agent. You know what this paddling is for, but humor me. Tell me why you're being punished." 

 

Alex gritted his teeth, closed his eyes. God, just spank me already, he thought. He was glad Skinner had locked the door. The thought of anyone walking in right now and seeing him in this vulnerable position brought tears to his eyes. I graduated third in my class at Quantico and look at me now, he thought. Pants down around my ankles, butt up over the AD's desk, about to get a for-gods-sake paddling. 

 

"I went out drinking on a work night and came in the next day unfit for duty. I behaved irresponsibly. I submitted unsatisfactory work and I displayed a disrespectful attitude toward you. I'm sorry, sir, and I will do better." 

 

"Very good, Agent," Skinner murmured. "Hold still now. I won't make you count, but if you let go of the desk or stand up, we start over from one." 

 

"Y-yes, sir." 

 

WHACK! 

 

"OW!" Alex yelped. The first blow was so loud and so painful, he almost lost his grip on the desk with the shock of it. 

 

"Settle down, Agent," Skinner growled. "We're just getting started." 

 

By the fifth whack, Alex was gulping air, fighting back tears. The sixth swat slammed down across his reddened cheeks and he gasped, squeezing his eyes shut tightly. He would not cry, he would not cry... 

 

WHACK! WHACK! 

 

Alex lost count then, a long hitching sob boiling up out of his throat, his eyes stinging with blazing hot tears. Still gripping the sides of the desk like a lifeline, he bawled helplessly. 

 

"Ow, ow, sir, please...please, I'm sorry, I'll learn, I won't do it again, I won't, I swear!" 

 

"I know it hurts, Alex," the soothing voice came from behind him. "I know. Only two more." 

 

"Oh no, no, please..." Alex's pleas were quickly swamped by a fresh bout of sobs. Alex buried his face in the now crumpled report and cried, miserable in his shame. Not only had he disappointed the AD with his irresponsible behavior, but now he'd gone completely to pieces in front of him! How could he ever face him again? Bad enough to be bare-assed, bent over his desk getting the spanking of a lifetime, but to bawl like a little boy in the process...it was just too much. 

 

The final two whacks sounded like pistol shots in the quiet office. 

 

Skinner put the paddle down. Alex lay dazed for a moment, his backside aflame, tears of anguish running down his cheeks and puddling under his chin. After a moment, he slowly, painfully, stood up and tried to pull himself together. He hissed as the polyester scraped over his sore bottom. Skinner waited while Alex arranged his clothing. Alex looked down, unable to meet Skinner's eyes. He scrubbed roughly at the persistent tears, surprised when a handkerchief appeared in his line of vision. 

 

"Here," Skinner said softly. 

 

Alex hesitated, then took the handkerchief and wiped his eyes. 

 

"Thank you, sir," he mumbled, "I'm sorry..." 

 

"That's enough," Skinner rumbled softly. Alex felt strong hands pull him close, felt himself held against a broad chest. 

 

"S-sir?" Alex whispered, his eyes wide. Tears sparkled in the damp lashes. 

 

Skinner stared down at him, his brown eyes kind and understanding. 

 

"You did well, Alex. I'm proud of you. I want you to know, just as Agent Mulder knows, that I'm always here for you boys. I'll never give up on you. Sometimes I will have to discipline you, but when it's over, it's forgotten. I know you're going to be a great agent, Alex. You're going to be a success and an asset to the Bureau. You just need a firm hand and some guidance, and I'm here to give that to you. I will not let you fail." 

 

Alex suddenly found himself clinging to the older man. 

 

"Thank you, sir," he found himself whispering into Skinner's starched shirt. "Thank you." 

 

He found, with faint surprise, that he meant it with all his heart.


	4. Skippy!Rat IV:  Growing Pains

Title: Growing Pains 

Author: Lorelei 

Pairing: Skinner/Mulder/Krycek 

Spoilers: mild ones for Duane Barry and Ascension 

Disclaimer: I don't own these characters, no profit is being made from their use, etc. etc. 

Warning: No sex yet. (snicker) Discussion of discipline/spanking. 

Status: New/Series. Follows New Recruit and precedes Saturday with Skinner. 

Summary: Sore butts and sore tempers in the basement office. 

Dedication: to Jose, for always being there for me.

 

 

Growing Pains 

by Lorelei 

 

 

Alex walked down the hallway toward the basement office he shared with his new partner, Fox Mulder. His footsteps echoed as he neared the office door, profoundly grateful that the hallway was deserted. He took small steps, purposefully shortening his stride, biting his lip and wincing, his butt smoking and stinging beneath the fabric of his cheap suit. 

 

His mind whirled as he walked, scarcely able to believe what had just happened. Everything he knew, everything he thought he knew about Assistant Director Walter Skinner had just been turned merrily on its ear. Alex shook his head slightly, as though he were trying to clear it. A giddy sense of disbelief dogged him and he paused, one hand on the doorknob. He had just been spanked. Subjected to corporal punishment. Paddled, his naked butt laid across the AD's desk like an offering. He'd summed up this ego-building experience by crying. No, not just crying, you weren't content to merely cry, he admonished himself. No, you went the whole nine yards and sobbed. Bawled. Blubbered. Abjectly and without shame. 

 

Alex frowned a little as he entered the office. He remembered them going over written reprimands at Quantico. Suspensions with pay, suspensions without pay. Transfers. Resignations. Even the dreaded Termination. Somehow his instructors had failed to mention that The Paddling of Your Bare Ass was apparently also an option at Management's disposal. 

 

He closed the door behind him and walked slowly over to his desk, which was crammed into the only available corner. He edged carefully around Scully's desk, which Mulder had insisted be left exactly as it was the last day she had been there. Alex had learned quickly. He had worn a set of perfect fingerprints on his arm for days after casually snagging a paperclip from the little dish on the corner of Scully's desk. Mulder's face had suddenly been close to his, those hazel eyes blazing with pain and anger. Alex's own eyes had widened as Mulder's hot breath scorched his ear. 

 

"Don't you ever touch anything on that desk," he had hissed, tears standing bright and furious in his eyes. 

 

Alex looked at her desk now, at the files neatly stacked, their edges aligned with the edge of the desk, in dignified contrast with the barely controlled chaos happening on Mulder's desk. Her post-its, her Rolodex, her pens and pencils in their gaily decorated flowered cup, were all lined up like soldiers waiting for her return. An emery board lay along the top row of keys on her computer keyboard. Her datebook lay open to a date three months prior, phone numbers and lunch dates neatly demarcated in her flowing script, appointments for dates she would never be allowed to keep inscribed in sky blue ink. Alex felt a lump in his throat at this sad little still life, waiting there, as though she would walk in at any moment in a flurry of red hair and vanilla tofutti. 

 

Alex swallowed hard and shook himself out of his reverie. Mulder sat at his own desk, absently cracking sunflower seeds, munching happily as he hunched over a blurry photocopy of a newspaper article. Alex sat down in his chair, hissing as his sore rump made contact with the seat. He cursed under his breath and squirmed around, trying to get comfortable. He gritted his teeth, finally found a bearable position and was rummaging in his desk drawer for a pen when he heard it. 

 

Mulder. Laughing. 

 

Alex looked up, bright spots of anger blooming on his cheeks, clutching the pen in a white-knuckled grip. Mulder sat, chin insouciantly on hand, gnawing at a sunflower seed and laughing at him. Alex's jaw tensed. The son of a bitch was laughing at him! 

 

"Just what the fuck is so funny?" Alex growled. 

 

Mulder chuckled, his eyes twinkling with merriment. 

 

"Looks like you had a...serious discussion with AD Skinner," he smirked. 

 

Alex stood up, stifling a groan as his sore butt protested the sudden motion. He shot Mulder a seething glare. Alex could feel his temper rising, made a half-hearted attempt to tamp it down, then abandoned his effort and gave into sweet blazing rage. 

 

Being laughed at was bad enough, but he'd be damned if he'd tolerate that fucking superior Mulder smirk. 

 

"Yeah, I did," he snapped. "Thanks to you, asshole." 

 

Mulder frowned momentarily, then returned to smirking. He reached for another seed and grinned a maddening come-on-and-slap-it-off-my-face grin. 

 

"Oh?" he said with an air of mock casualness. "I don't seem to remember holding you down and pouring those vodka tonics down your throat." 

 

Alex's hands curled into fists. He took another step toward Mulder's desk. 

 

"You knew, didn't you? You knew this would be the quickest way to get me into the most shit with Skinner. You planned it. You're trying to torpedo my career before it even gets started, aren't you? You son of a bitch!" 

 

Mulder did the worst thing he could have possibly done under the circumstances. He dismissed Alex. Ignored him. 

 

Alex stood, overcome with this sudden wave of anger, trembling with rage as Mulder glanced at him, gave an infuriating little half-shrug, and returned to his newspaper article. One long-fingered hand pawed absently at the small pile of sunflower seeds on the corner of the desk blotter, then conveyed a plump seed to his lips. Mulder continued to eat and read, Alex forgotten, a minor distraction in the long working day of Spooky Mulder, Enigma, Legend and Golden Boy of the FBI. 

 

Another seed. 

 

Crack. Chew. Swallow. 

 

Crack. Chew. Swallow. 

 

Alex reached critical mass around the third seed. 

 

Mulder glanced up just in time to see Alex coming at him in a blur of flashing green eyes and drip-dry suit jacket. Mulder's chair tipped over, wheels spinning crazily, and the sunflower seed hulls showered down around them as they rolled on the floor. Alex got Mulder pinned and grabbed him by the lapels, shouting down into his shocked face. 

 

"You planned it! Admit it! You've been trying to ditch me since day one, and when I wouldn't let you get away with it you decided to fuck things up for me with Skinner! That's why you invited me out for drinks last night, isn't it? That's where all this sudden male-bonding bullshit came from, right? Get me drunk and then make me look like a fucking incompetent moron in front of the boss, right?" 

 

Mulder's eyes narrowed and in a nauseating whirl, Alex found himself on the floor, firmly held down, Mulder's bony knees firmly planted on either side of his hips, Mulder's hands digging painfully into his shoulders. 

 

"Jesus Christ, Krycek, and they call me paranoid!" 

 

"Fuck you, get off me!" Alex snarled. 

 

Mulder kept one hand on Alex's chest, ignoring his struggles, and felt around under his desk with the other. Alex battered at Mulder with his newly freed hands, managed to get him a good one across the cheekbone, eliciting a gasp and guttural curse from the older man. Mulder's free hand left Alex's chest and settled around his throat. Loose enough to leave his airway open, tight enough to convey a clear and present danger should Alex decide to try that again. 

 

Alex raised his fists again, then settled as the surprisingly strong hand clamped around his throat tightened warningly. He subsided, growling and muttering curses, squirming just enough to be an irritant as Mulder continued to grope for whatever it was he was searching for. Stretching as far as he could possibly stretch and still keep one hand on Krycek's throat, his pulse bouncing frenetically under Mulder's sensitive palm, Mulder ignored the scalding green gaze being directed at him and concentrated his search beneath his overturned chair. 

 

At last he gave a triumphant cry and held his prize aloft, shaking it meaningfully at Alex. 

 

Alex stared up at it in disbelief. 

 

It was a pillow. A perfectly ordinary pillow. 

 

"What the hell are you gonna do, smother me?" Alex snapped, struggling with renewed vigor. 

 

Mulder rolled his eyes and shook the pillow in Alex's face. 

 

"I was sitting on it, you idiot!" 

 

Silence as green eyes widened, as Alex processed the information and came to the only sensible hypothesis. 

 

"You...you mean he...he paddled YOU?" 

 

Alex's jaw dropped as he tried to imagine Skinner paddling Mulder. Strange stirrings from below warned him to derail this train of thought, and quickly. He flushed and shook his head in disbelief. But Mulder was...Mulder. Take-no-prisoners, nothing-matters-but-the-Truth, I'll-do-it-my-way Mulder. Alex simply could not equate the Mulder he knew, the Mulder presently looming over him with a large white pillow clutched in one hand, the other hand still gripping Alex's throat, with the Mulder who would meekly bend over and take a paddling from his angry AD. 

 

Mulder tossed the pillow aside and stood up, waiting while Alex slowly got to his feet. He gave Alex a disgusted look and reached for his toppled chair, setting it upright and brushing away a few sunflower seed hulls that were adhering to the nubby upholstery. 

 

"Of course not," he said over his shoulder. "I got the belt." 

 

Alex stood dumbstruck. 

 

"Wh-what?" he croaked. 

 

Mulder turned and folded his arms, regarding Alex with a stony look. 

 

"I said, I didn't get the paddle. I got ten strokes with his belt. Because I'm the senior agent. Because he expects more from me. Because I'm responsible for you." 

 

Mulder took a step closer, his jaw tight, his eyes hard and flinty. 

 

"And if YOU," he growled, stabbing a finger into Alex's chest, "hadn't handed Skinner that fucked-up, sorry-assed reeking pile of Grade A bullshit instead of the report you were supposed to write, and which report, I might add, could have been written anytime in the preceding week, NONE of this would have happened!" 

 

Alex brushed Mulder's hand away roughly. 

 

"Fuck off, Mr. Senior Agent. That circle-jerk of an assignment we just came back from was 100% pure Mulder lunacy from start to finish." 

 

Mulder stood, fuming, his hands on his hips. 

 

"Just what the fuck is that supposed to mean, Krycek?" 

 

Now it was Alex's turn to step forward into Mulder's personal space. 

 

"Return with me now, Mulder," he snarled sarcastically, "to a small town in Iowa. Remember the crop circles? Remember getting thrown out of that bar when you suggested to the locals that alien DNA might actually improve their gene pool? Remember the manure spreader?" 

 

Alex's voice was increasing in volume. The last volley was shouted directly into Mulder's face. 

 

"Do YOU know why you do what you do? How the hell do you think I'm supposed to explain it? How the fuck do you ever solve an X-File, Mulder? You're the fucking X-File! You just trip merrily along through life expecting everybody else to clean up after you, don't you? Well, the next time you go off to some podunk town and do something extravagantly stupid, you can write your own goddamned report and explain it yourself!" 

 

Mulder was silent for a moment. Alex stood, breathing heavily, their anger arcing and snapping between them. 

 

Mulder lost it first, hazel eyes narrowed and the growl boiling up from his chest, shoving Alex hard enough to knock him off balance. Alex fell backward, landing against Scully's desk, knocking the flowered cup to the floor. It shattered, littering the floor with pens, pencils and shards of ceramic. Two sets of eyes watched its descent, stared at the shattered remains in horror. 

 

Alex's eyes widened in fear and he looked at Mulder, already holding up his hands in supplication. 

 

"Whoa, hey, Mulder," he began, ducking as Mulder took a wild swing at him. 

 

"You're going to be sorry for that, Krycek!" 

 

"Mulder!" Alex shouted, dodging another attempted roundhouse and backing away quickly as Mulder advanced on him, face purple with rage. 

 

"Mulder, it was an accident!" Alex yelped, trying to put the file cabinet between himself and his homicidally furious partner. "You pushed me, man, I didn't do it on purpose!" 

 

Mulder grabbed Alex, lifting him almost off his feet. Alex headbutted him, causing him to stumble backwards momentarily. Mulder recovered quickly and came at Alex again, teeth bared in an enraged snarl. 

 

"This is all your fault, Krycek!" he shouted, waving his arm around the office that they were in the act of systematically destroying. "All of it! I was fine before you came along! I was fine! I don't need you! I don't need a new partner! I just...I just want..." He turned and looked at the broken cup on the floor, then suddenly buried his face in his hands and began to sob. 

 

Alex stood thunderstruck for a moment, unsure of what to do. He stepped forward, placed a hand on Mulder's shoulder. 

 

"Hey," he said softly. "Hey, it's okay. Come on, Mulder. I'm sorry." 

 

Mulder turned and looked at him, tears streaming down his face. Alex made a helpless gesture toward Scully's desk, shrinking in the face of the vast and immeasurable grief pouring from Mulder's eyes. 

 

"I'm sorry about her, about what happened to her," Alex said softly, looking down. He swallowed around the lump in his throat. More than you know, Mulder. 

 

Mulder opened his mouth to speak. 

 

That was when they both heard Skinner clear his throat quietly. 

 

Agents Mulder and Krycek stood in the rubble of their battlefield, their mouths hanging open, staring at the AD who stood casually in the doorway, one shoulder propped against the doorframe. 

 

They trembled as his intense gaze swept over the room, at the pillow on the floor, at Mulder's desk blotter hanging off the desk, at the sunflower seed hulls scattered about. His eyes came to rest on Scully's broken cup, lying there beside her desk. Without a word, Skinner squatted down and carefully gathered up every shard, every pen and every pencil, and placed them almost tenderly on her desk blotter. 

 

Alex's heart hammered in his chest. He wondered what the food was like in the FBI cafeteria in Boise. 

 

Mulder stared down at the floor, still unable to staunch the flow of tears. 

 

Skinner stepped forward, pulled Mulder into his arms. Alex watched in mute fascination as Mulder stood stiffly at first, then sagged, his hands clutching Skinner's shirt tightly enough to wrinkle it. His sobs were muffled against Skinner's chest as the AD held him, waited for him to cry it out. 

 

Finally Mulder lifted his head and stepped back, scrubbing at his face with the back of his hand. Skinner looked at him with concern. 

 

"All right, Agent?" 

 

Mulder spoke in a whisper. 

 

"Yes, sir." 

 

Skinner swept the room again with a gaze that missed nothing. He took in Alex's rumpled suit, his tousled hair. The bruise decorating Mulder's cheek. Alex stood, head bowed, hands behind his back, awaiting his doom. Getting fired, for most people, would be a terrible thing. For him, it would be fatal. 

 

"H-how long were you standing there, sir?" Mulder mumbled in the general direction of his shoes. 

 

Skinner eyed him sternly. 

 

"Long enough, Agent Mulder. Long enough." 

 

Skinner stood directly in front of Mulder and waited for him to raise his head. Slowly, Mulder did. 

 

"Is this what you call looking after a junior agent, Mulder? Is this any sort of example to set? I come down here hoping to see you imparting some of your wisdom and experience to Agent Krycek and what do I see instead?" 

 

Mulder said nothing. Skinner leaned forward almost imperceptibly. 

 

"I said, Agent Mulder, what do I see instead?" 

 

Mulder gulped and spoke quietly. 

 

"We-we were fighting, sir." 

 

Skinner swung his head toward Alex, waited for him to look up. Alex reluctantly raised his eyes. 

 

"Is that a fairly accurate summation of the situation, Agent Krycek?" 

 

Alex had to try twice to get the words out. His ass began to throb again in time to his pulse. 

 

"Y-yes, sir." 

 

Skinner folded his arms and stared the two miscreants down. 

 

"I am not a happy man, gentlemen." 

 

"No, sir," they both whispered, slightly out of sync. 

 

Skinner closed the office door. Folded his arms again. Glowering down at them, he looked ten feet tall. When he spoke, his voice was calm and quiet. Yelling would have been less terrifying. 

 

"What I am to do with two agents who cannot even be trusted to be alone in the same room together? With two agents who appear to be more interested in squabbling, bickering and scuffling than in doing the jobs which the American taxpayers are paying them to do?" 

 

Mulder and Krycek shuffled uneasily. 

 

Skinner looked at Mulder, brown eyes pinioning hazel. 

 

"Agent Mulder. I'm sure you'll agree this situation deserves...special...handling." 

 

Mulder gulped and then straighted his posture. 

 

"Yes, sir." 

 

Skinner eyed him levelly and continued. 

 

"I'm sure you know, Agent Mulder, being more familiar than most with FBI disciplinary procedure, what sanctions could be taken against you and your partner, Agent Krycek for this shameful display." 

 

"Yes, sir." 

 

Skinner raised an eyebrow. 

 

"So then I take that you will be amenable to...an alternative form of discipline?" 

 

Mulder nodded, his eyes down. 

 

"Yes, sir." 

 

Skinner considered this a moment. 

 

"Agent Mulder, you are to be at my place Saturday morning at eight o'clock sharp. Is that understood?" 

 

"Yes, sir." Mulder's voice was low and subdued. 

 

"You will come prepared to stay overnight. Is that clear?" 

 

"Y-yes, sir." 

 

Alex watched in amazement as Mulder turned and went to his desk, sitting down meekly and beginning to tidy it up. 

 

Skinner turned his attention to the junior agent standing in front of him. 

 

"Agent Krycek," he began. "You already know that I have a...creative way of dealing with disciplinary problems. I thought our 'talk' earlier this afternoon had some effect on you. The evidence would suggest I was mistaken." 

 

Alex stared at the floor. 

 

"I will expect you to arrive at my home by eight o'clock Saturday morning, Agent. Come prepared to spend the night. Agent Mulder will give you the address." 

 

Alex flushed and stammered, "S-sir, this...this is highly irregular. I don't..." 

 

Then he saw Mulder's face. 

 

Mulder was sitting at his desk, looking at AD Skinner. Not with fear or dread or resentment. His eyes shone with admiration and with something else...something deep and honest and pure. Mulder wiped away a tear and gave Alex a reassuring nod. Alex turned, his eyes wide, only to see AD Skinner gazing back at Mulder with tenderness and kindness in those warm brown eyes. There was a genuine caring between the two men, Alex could sense it, it was a palpable presence there in the room with them. His heart suddenly ached as he looked back and forth between them. He had never felt so alone, so adrift. He saw what passed between Skinner and Mulder, felt it, and wanted to be a part of it, wanted it more than he had ever wanted anything. 

 

He looked into Skinner's eyes and steeled his resolve. 

 

"I'll be there, sir." 

 

Skinner looked at Alex for a long moment, then favored him with a brief but genuine smile. His hand rested on Alex's shoulder for a fleeting moment, squeezed. Then Skinner was heading for the door. 

 

He paused and turned. 

 

"I'll see you Saturday morning, then, gentlemen. Do not be late." 

 

The door closed behind him and Alex and Mulder looked at one another. Neither man spoke, but the tension that had always seemed to hum just below the surface since the day they met now seemed to be at an ebb. Slowly, Alex sat back down at his desk and began to retype the report on the case in Iowa. Mulder finished tidying up. 

 

They worked in companionable silence, each leaving the other alone with his thoughts. 

 

At length, Mulder stood and went to the door. He opened it and turned to Alex. 

 

"I'm going down to the cafeteria. Want some coffee?" 

 

Alex looked up in surprise. 

 

"Yeah," he said. "Thanks." 

 

He waited for Mulder to come back, circled Saturday's date on his calendar. Wondered what would happen. 

 

The End


	5. Skippy!Rat V:  Saturday with Skinner

Pairing: Skinner/Mulder/Krycek 

Rating: Adult for m/m interaction, discipline, spanking 

Spoilers: minor ones for early Krycek eps 

Disclaimer: The reader's pleasure is my only reward. That and seeing the pretty rat get spanked. (snicker) 

Warning: This story contains discipline and spanking. If this is not something you want to read, do us both a favor and get out while you can. If you read it anyway and get squicked, I don't want to hear about it. 

Status: New/Series. Third in the series of stories written to satisfy my Skippy!Rat lust. This follows New Recruit and Growing Pains. 

Thanks: To Josan, for sending me hugs when I need them. 

Summary: The Day has arrived. Punishment time! 

Dedication: To Steve, Karen, Gaby, Jose, Ursula and Peach. Every one a blessing and a treasure.

 

 

Saturday with Skinner 

by Lorelei 

 

 

Alex tossed and turned, finally giving up on sleep around five am. He lay on his back, staring up at the ceiling, barely visible in the early morning light just seeping in beneath the windowshades. He raised his head to look at the clock on the bedside table, dropping it back onto the pillow with a groan. In three hours he would be at Skinner's place. 

 

He tucked one arm under his pillow, rested the other hand on his flat stomach, rubbed it absently, trying unconsciously to calm the anxious flip-flopping it had been doing all night. He replayed the scene in his mind for the hundredth time. Skinner's face, stern and unreadable as he waited for Alex to drop his pants and bend over the desk. Alex's face flushing hotly as the cool air wafted across his bare ass. Clutching the desk, trying not to yell as the paddle smacked down. The sound of Skinner's voice as he spoke of their "arrangement". 

 

Yes. You agreed to it, Alex thought. Why? 

 

Because he cares. Because you could see it in his eyes. He paddled your ass because he gives a damn and you bent over and took it because you've wanted this your whole life. Because you need it. 

 

No! 

 

Yes. 

 

Forcibly distracting himself from this troubling train of thought, Alex groaned again, rubbed circles on his still fluttering stomach, his traitorous hand dipping ever more closely toward the soft dark hair curling below. His breath quickened as he imagined Mulder in his place, pants down around his ankles, runner's legs slightly spread, the taut muscles flexing, his naked ass beginning to pinken as he accepted Skinner's discipline. 

 

Alex kicked the covers off. His hand moved lower, making him gasp as it closed around his erect cock. He was rock hard, so hard it hurt. Hard like he had been in Skinner's office, biting his lip every time the paddle came down, humiliation and pain and arousal all warring together as his agonizing hard-on pressed against the edge of Skinner's desk. 

 

He gripped his cock, spreading the hot precome around the head with his thumb, began to stroke himself, slowly at first, then faster, concentrating on the image of Mulder being punished by the AD. Inevitably, as his hips began to buck and he neared his climax, the images of Mulder gave way to images of himself, kneeling before Skinner, those dark brown eyes looking down at him with caring...with forgiveness...Alex tossed his head, eyes squeezed shut tightly, moaning his pleasure as he saw himself over Skinner's knee, saw Skinner's big hand warming his ass, spanking him...oh God... 

 

Alex came explosively, hot semen spurting over his hand and onto his stomach. He lay, panting, feeling the delicious heat radiating from his groin into every part of his body. He brushed the sweat-dampened hair out of his eyes and looked at the clock again. Might as well get up, take a shower. Maybe he could make himself sit still long enough to read the newspaper or something, try to distract himself until it was time to leave. 

 

Alex stood in the shower, letting the hot water pound his back and shoulders as he soaped himself up. His lathered hands passed over his ass, lingering there, absently tracing the spots on his buttocks where the paddle had landed. The pain and the heat were faded now, but the thought of the paddling, of the way Skinner's every movement telegraphed his dominance, the effortless way he claimed his alpha male status, was enough to get Alex hard again. He groaned even as he lathered his hands again and reached down to grasp his stiffening cock. How was he ever going to make it through the day if the mere thought of the AD was enough to make him hard? 

 

He pumped in and out of his soapy fist, bracing himself against the shower wall as he did. It didn't take long for him to come as he played the now-familiar movie in his mind, his husky shout of completion echoing off the tile walls. He closed his eyes, seeing the Alex in his mind stand slowly and pull up his pants, accepting the handkerchief, wiping away his tears of shame. 

 

That's it. Stop now. 

 

He wouldn't let himself think about what had happened next. As many times as he had replayed the paddling in his mind, he had never let himself think about what happened after. He stood beneath the rapidly cooling spray, the tepid water streaming over his bent head, his hands clenched into fists. 

 

Don't. Don't think about it. Don't let yourself. 

 

But this time, he couldn't stop it. He rested his face against the cool tile wall, fat droplets of water mingling with tears, a sob escaping him as he surrendered to the memory, terrible and beautiful, of being held in Skinner's arms, nestled against that broad chest. Surrounded by the warmth of him, strong arms encircling him. That deep voice, so close, rumbling in his ear. 

 

I'm proud of you. I will not let you fail. 

 

Alex straightened and turned off the water. He stepped out of the shower and toweled himself off in front of the mirror, willing his green eyes to mask the pain behind them. 

 

He would not let himself think of it again. 

 

At precisely 7:59am, Alex stood outside Skinner's door. The nervousness was back. In the privacy of his small apartment, it was easy to find the situation erotic, the thought of being punished by his stern AD undeniably attractive. But now, as he stood in the hallway, trying to will himself to ring the bell, his heart was hammering in his chest. He swallowed hard. He was going to be here an entire day and night. Intrigue warred with stark terror. What would Skinner do? 

 

He was still trying to get the courage up to ring the bell when Skinner opened the door. He was dressed in a T-shirt and running shorts, and Alex found it impossible not to let his eyes travel up and down those long, strong legs. He swallowed and looked up into Skinner's eyes, which were appraising him in turn. Alex was dressed similarly, having obeyed Skinner's instructions to the letter. He too wore shorts and a T-shirt, sneakers on his feet, his bag packed with toiletries and extra clothes. 

 

"Are you intending to take up residence out here in the hallway, Agent Krycek?" Skinner barked. 

 

Alex jumped. 

 

"N-no, sir," he stammered, stepping inside. Skinner shut the door. Mulder was already there, sitting on the sofa. He acknowledged Alex with a nod and went back to lacing up his sneakers while Skinner disappeared into the kitchen. 

 

Alex stood hesitantly by the door, still clutching his gym bag like a talisman. A jittery first-day-of-school feeling dogged him. He was the new kid, all right, and he sure felt it as he watched Mulder coolly thumbing through Sports Illustrated, calm and collected as you please, as though they were just three buddies who had gotten together for a game of basketball. 

 

Skinner came out of the kitchen and beckoned to Mulder, who obediently got up and followed him. Alex could hear them talking, but couldn't hear what they said over the din of dishes clanking and water running. 

 

He was still standing there, looking shyly around the living room, when Skinner and Mulder returned. Skinner gave Alex an exasperated look. He walked over and relieved Alex of his gym bag, placing it on the floor by the sofa. 

 

"Sit down, Agent Krycek." 

 

Alex walked over to the sofa and sat down next to Mulder. There was a tray on the coffee table with three large glasses of orange juice. Mulder took one and handed it to Alex, then took another for himself. Skinner and Mulder drank theirs calmly, seeming oblivious to the tension radiating from the rookie agent. Alex clutched the glass of juice, too nervous to do more than sip at it. Finally, he could stand it no more. 

 

"Sir?" he asked, trying to keep his voice even. "What..." he paused and cleared his throat. "What are you...I mean, what are we going to do?" 

 

Skinner eyed him levelly for a moment and then answered, setting his empty glass back on the tray. 

 

"Well, Agent, we're going to go downstairs to the gym and work out. You do work out, don't you?" 

 

Alex blinked. 

 

"I...when I can, sir." 

 

"Hmmm," Skinner said. The look he gave Alex suggested that he was somewhat displeased with the answer he had been given. 

 

Skinner folded his arms and continued. 

 

"After that, we will shower, then come back up here for breakfast." 

 

Alex looked as confused as he felt. 

 

"B-breakfast, sir?" 

 

Skinner's patience was nearing its end. 

 

"Yes, Agent Krycek, breakfast. The first meal of the day. Usually eaten in the morning. Perhaps you've heard of it?" 

 

Alex gulped and flushed dark red. 

 

"I...yes, sir," he mumbled, sure he heard a low snicker from Mulder. 

 

Skinner picked up the tray, watching Alex pointedly until the younger man finished his juice, then took the empty glasses to the kitchen. 

 

Alex jumped as Mulder put a hand on his shoulder. 

 

"Would you relax?" Mulder said dryly. "Stop acting like he's going to grab you and beat the shit out of you." 

 

Alex looked at Mulder helplessly. Mulder rolled his eyes. 

 

"What did you think, he was going to meet you at the door with a paddle in his hand?" 

 

Alex colored again and twisted his hands in his lap. 

 

"I...I don't know. I don't know what to expect. Does he...do you do this often?" 

 

"You mean the Saturday thing?" 

 

Alex nodded. Mulder rested his ankle on the opposite knee and fiddled with a looped shoelace as he talked. 

 

"No, only once or twice before. He always handles discipline in the office...he only does this when it's serious." 

 

Alex gulped. 

 

"How did you...I mean, what happened to make you..." He trailed off, wondering if he had somehow lost the ability to form a complete sentence since arriving here. 

 

Mulder looked at him for a moment, those piercing hazel eyes seeming to study him. Alex sat still under that assessing gaze, trying not to fidget. The day before, this man had made him angry enough to attack him. Because he had laughed at Alex. Because more than anything, Alex wanted Mulder to respect him, to accept him. 

 

Mulder rested his head against the back of the couch and spoke softly, long fingers still absently toying with his shoelace. 

 

"The first time was about six months ago. Scully and I were after a serial killer. It seemed like every time we got close, he'd slip through our fingers. He got my home number and left taunting messages on my answering machine, talking about what he was going to do to his next victim." Mulder paused, obviously troubled by the memory. "He was spotted at a bar in Georgetown, but he managed to slip away again. He left another message on my machine that night, told me where he was going to strike next, telling me to be there, alone, if I wanted him to surrender." 

 

Mulder shook his head, as through trying to clear it. 

 

"I wanted the guy so bad, I didn't care about the risk. I...I didn't tell Scully where I was going, I didn't tell anybody. I had to go alone. She would have insisted on going along, would have insisted on backup. I knew it was probably a trap but I had to try, and I didn't want her or anyone else to get hurt." 

 

Mulder looked down, ashamed. 

 

"Of course, it was a trap. He'd given me the address of a seedy motel in Baltimore. I was in the alley, trying to find a back way in when he jumped me. He got my gun and was about to shoot me when Skinner and Scully showed up. Skinner got him in the shoulder. He went down but managed to squeeze off a shot before he did. It just missed me, but Skinner's next shot nailed him in the chest. He died on the way to the hospital." 

 

Mulder went silent again. Alex waited, strangely exhilarated at the way Mulder was talking to him. To him, not at him. Not...not like friends, not yet, but like a fellow agent, a partner. Not like some green kid foisted on him, something to be endured. 

 

Mulder took a deep breath and continued. 

 

"The next day, Skinner called me into his office and chewed my ass to rags. I'd never seen him so pissed off. He read me the riot act backwards and forwards, then asked me what I thought I deserved for pulling an idiotic stunt like that. I...I lost it. I got up in his face and told him to quit yanking my chain. I asked him what he thought I deserved." 

 

Mulder gave a low, rueful chuckle. 

 

"He stormed over to his desk and ripped the drawer open. I know my mouth dropped open when I saw the paddle. I told him he was insane, that he'd completely lost his mind. He told me he knew a spoiled brat when he saw one and he knew exactly how to deal with one. I told him he wasn't man enough to do it." 

 

Mulder fidgeted a little, unable or unwilling to look Alex in the eye. 

 

"Of course, we both knew I could have been suspended, even terminated for what I'd done, not to mention the fact that, had Skinner and Scully gotten there a few seconds later, I'd have ended up on a slab. He gave me a choice: accept the punishment he deemed fair or take my chances with the Bureau. Next thing I knew, I was ass up over his desk and he was giving me the blistering of a lifetime. I thought it would never end. I could barely sit for the next week. Scully thought I had hemorrhoids." 

 

Mulder's eyes suddenly grew bright. 

 

"But after...he...he told me how important I was to him, how he could never forgive himself if anything happened to me. That if that was what he had to do to get through to me, he would. But he wanted me to agree to it. Wanted me to accept it. And if I didn't, he would never bring it up again." 

 

Mulder turned toward Alex. 

 

"We've had this...arrangement ever since." He shrugged. "That's really all there is to tell." 

 

Alex looked into Mulder's eyes, saw openness there, honesty. Mulder's expression showed no embarrassment, no wariness. There was only the truth, unvarnished and simple. 

 

Alex opened his mouth to ask another question but was interrupted as Skinner returned from the kitchen. He had his own gym bag slung over his shoulder and a set of keys in his hand. 

 

"Let's go, gentlemen," he said quietly. Mulder and Alex glanced at each other, picked up their bags and followed Skinner. 

 

The gym at Viva Tower was spacious and well-appointed. Mulder ran through a few stretching exercises to limber up and then hopped on the treadmill. Skinner interrogated Alex, questioning him closely about his exercise habits and diet. Alex found himself answering at length, blushing at this unaccustomed attention. Skinner frowned disapprovingly as Alex admitted his predilection for fast food and Coke, indulgences he had enjoyed frequently since leaving Quantico. He nodded numbly as Skinner brisquely recommended changes in his diet, advised him to get more sleep and handed him a business card with the address of a vitamin shop. Skinner recommended a particular brand of multivitamin and waited with eyebrows raised as Alex mumbled a bewildered "yes, sir" and slipped the card into the pocket of his shorts. 

 

Skinner put Alex and Mulder through a brisk workout, keeping them so busy that Alex was almost able to forget that this was supposedly a day for punishment. Skinner kept pace alongside them, moving easily through his own workout, one that was obviously second nature. Alex drank deeply from the bottle of water Skinner pressed into his hand, his heart skipping a beat as he wondered what would happen once they were back upstairs. 

 

He didn't have long to wait. It was early still, and the shower room was nearly empty. Alex directed a silent thank you skyward as he saw the separate shower stalls with their frosted glass doors. He didn't want to think about the embarrassing spectacle his rogue cock might make of itself if he saw Skinner and Mulder naked right now. They stepped into the stalls and showered quickly. One by one they filed into the adjoining locker room, towels around their waists. Skinner and Mulder were already dressed when Alex came in, one hand firmly anchoring his towel. They waited patiently while he found a spot, shielded by a row of lockers, and hastily dried himself, dressing quickly in clean shorts and shirt. Skinner then led the way to the elevator, his two younger agents trailing him like nervous puppies. 

 

Back in Skinner's living room, Alex glanced around nervously. Skinner eyed both young men sternly. 

 

"You both know why you're here. There is business to be attended to, but it will wait until after breakfast. While I'm taking care of that, I want you both to sit quietly and think about what happened yesterday. I want 'yes, sir' to be the last thing I hear either of you say until breakfast is ready. Is that understood?" 

 

Alex and Mulder looked at one another. 

 

"Yes, sir," they mumbled. 

 

"Good," Skinner said, pointing toward the sofa. "Mulder, you sit there. Agent Krycek can sit in the breakfast nook." 

 

Mulder meekly sat down on the sofa, his hands in his lap. Alex followed Skinner to the breakfast nook and sat down in the chair the AD indicated, staring nervously at the empty plates and glasses already arranged on the table. 

 

Skinner busied himself scrambling eggs and making toast. He filled a large bowl with melon, grapes and berries, then filled the glasses on the table with milk. Alex found himself gazing out of the window at the birds soaring over the rooftops, at the morning sun reflecting off the windows across the street. 

 

Skinner's voice jolted Alex out of his reverie. His face was close to Alex's ear and his tone was that of a man not to be trifled with. 

 

"Are you thinking, Agent Krycek?" 

 

Alex flushed guiltily. 

 

"Y-yes, sir," he answered, looking penitently down at the tablecloth. Skinner eyed him doubtfully for a moment before walking out into the living room to summon Mulder to breakfast. 

 

Nerves notwithstanding, Alex's nearly empty stomach welcomed the appetizing food and he ate with a healthy appetite. Skinner looked at him approvingly when he chose jam instead of butter for his toast and accepted a second helping of fruit. Skinner directed the conversation, steering clear of the matter of his agents' misbehavior, but chatting enthusiastically about sports and current events. Alex was surprised to find himself joining in and enjoying the give and take, even laughing with genuine delight at Mulder's dry wit as he recounted a harrowing tale of a midnight visit to Wal-Mart and his encounter with a 300 pound woman in a glow in the dark "I Love Aliens" T-shirt. 

 

After breakfast, however, the mood grew serious. Alex and Mulder sat in matching wing chairs in Skinner's home office, facing the AD across a broad expanse of mahogany. Skinner steepled his hands and looked at them, his expression severe. 

 

"All right, gentlemen. It's time to deal with what happened this week. I think it goes without saying that I am deeply unhappy with your behavior. If there is any doubt in your mind, either of you, I can assure you that I intend to rectify that before you leave here tomorrow morning." 

 

Two dark heads nodded miserably. 

 

Skinner looked at them both for a long moment before he continued. 

 

"Fighting will not be tolerated, particularly on FBI time and on FBI property. The two of you ought to be ashamed of yourselves. Rolling on the floor like common thugs. Do you think that's what I wanted to see when I walked into your office, Agent Mulder?" 

 

"No, sir," Mulder whispered. 

 

"Do you think Scully would be proud of your behavior?" 

 

Mulder paled. He blinked rapidly, then answered, his voice barely audible. 

 

"No, sir," he said again. 

 

Skinner's gaze swept over them both. 

 

"Who started it?" 

 

Alex swallowed hard. 

 

"I-I did, sir. I attacked Agent Mulder." 

 

Skinner gave him a long look. 

 

"May I ask why?" 

 

Alex turned red. He stared at the carpet, willing it to open up and swallow him. 

 

Skinner's hand slammed down on the desk, making both younger men jump. 

 

"Agent Krycek!" 

 

Alex gulped. 

 

"He...he laughed at me." 

 

Skinner was incredulous. 

 

"He laughed at you?" 

 

Alex nodded, knowing how ridiculous it all sounded. 

 

Skinner scowled. 

 

"Are you telling me that you attacked Agent Mulder and instigated this scuffle because he laughed at you? Agent Krycek, perhaps it escaped me when I read your Personnel file, but do you happen to be eight years old?" 

 

"N-no, sir." 

 

"Perhaps you mistook your office for a school playground?" 

 

"No, sir." 

 

Skinner looked at Mulder again. 

 

"And just what did you find to be so funny, Agent Mulder?" 

 

Mulder hesitated. 

 

"Do not make me ask you again, Agent." 

 

Mulder took a deep breath and then confessed. 

 

"I...he had just come from your office, sir, and he sat down, and I..." Mulder trailed off. The look on Skinner's face spelled doom. Mulder's butt clenched in anticipation. 

 

"Go on, Agent Mulder. I'm eager to benefit from this hilarious tale. I could use a laugh. Go ahead, tell me just what was so funny about Agent Krycek when he returned from my office." 

 

Mulder's face was aflame. He stared at the floor, one hand picking nervously at the arm of the chair. 

 

Skinner settled back in his chair. 

 

"I hope you're ashamed, Agent Mulder, because you deserve to be. What happened between Agent Krycek and myself in my office is personal and private, just as my arrangement with you has been. Like it or not, he is your partner. I entrusted this junior agent to you, so that you could instruct and guide him, give him the benefit of your wisdom. Instead you mock and humiliate him, taking what is a very sensitive and private matter and turning it into a joke. I am very disappointed in you, Agent Mulder." 

 

Mulder's eyes filled with tears. He couldn't bear to look at Skinner. 

 

"Yes, sir," he whispered. 

 

"Do you remember how you felt the first time I punished you, Agent Mulder?" 

 

Mulder nodded, wiping quickly at his eyes. 

 

"No doubt it was a very emotional experience. You needed time to get your thoughts, your feelings in order." 

 

"Yes, sir." 

 

"Would you have liked to be laughed at? Ridiculed?" 

 

Mulder hung his head. 

 

"No, sir." 

 

Alex watched with wide eyes. He trembled as Skinner's brown eyes once again focused sharply on him. 

 

"And you, Agent Krycek, need to learn to control your impulses." 

 

"Yes, sir." 

 

"Agent Mulder was wrong, but so were you. You will both be severely punished. I will not tolerate such unprofessional behavior from my agents." 

 

"Yes, sir," Alex said softly. 

 

Skinner pointed a finger at Alex. 

 

"You are young and inexperienced, Agent Krycek, no doubt about it. But you will learn to curb your temper or I will do it for you. Is that clear?" 

 

"Y-yes, sir," Alex whispered. 

 

"Good," Skinner said, standing and walking over to a burnished wood cabinet. He opened it and withdrew a wide leather strap. He brought it over and placed in the center of his desk. Alex's eyes were fixed on it with fascination and horror. 

 

Skinner looked at the two miscreants fidgeting in their chairs. 

 

"It goes without saying that you've both earned a strapping. You'll get thirty strokes each, to be given ten at a time. Ten now, ten after dinner and ten before you leave in the morning, to make sure the lesson stays with you." 

 

Skinner looked at Alex. 

 

"As you are the one responsible for instigating the physical altercation, Agent Krycek, you will receive an additional punishment." 

 

"Yes, sir," Alex murmured, still gazing at the fearsome strap. 

 

Skinner sighed. 

 

"I can think of many things I would rather be doing with my weekend, gentlemen. But if you insist on demonstrating your need for discipline, I will have to oblige you. Agent Mulder, wait in the living room." 

 

Mulder rose and left the room, closing the door quietly behind him. 

 

Skinner waited by the desk, the strap in his hand. 

 

"Let's get the first ten over with, Alex." 

 

The use of his first name snapped Alex back to reality. He stood, shaking slightly, eyeing the door. His pulse thrummed, his adrenaline pumped. His fight-or-flight instinct was in overdrive. He didn't have to get strapped. He could leave. He could walk out right now. He could... 

 

Skinner's eyes softened. He watched the younger man struggle to conquer his desire to flee. 

 

"Alex," Skinner said quietly. "Tell me what you did wrong." 

 

"Wh-what?" Alex asked, still looking longingly at the door. His palms had begun to sweat. 

 

Skinner moved slightly closer, careful not to spook the skittish young man. 

 

"Alex, take a deep breath. Now." The AD's commanding tone resonated with Alex. He obeyed, taking a long, hitching breath. 

 

"Good," Skinner said soothingly. "Now another." 

 

Alex took another deep breath. 

 

"Tell me what you did wrong," Skinner said again. 

 

Alex swallowed hard. 

 

"I...I lost my temper. I let Mulder get to me, let him make me angry. I attacked him and fought with him." 

 

Skinner nodded, sitting on the edge of the desk. His body language was loose and relaxed, subtly encouraging Alex to relax as well. 

 

"And what could you have done differently?" 

 

"I don't know!" Alex snapped, frustrated. He began to pace nervously back and forth. 

 

"Yes, you do," Skinner murmured. "Tell me." 

 

Alex turned to face him, felt himself pulled in by that gentle voice. He bit his lip, jammed his hands in his pockets. He looked down at his shoes. 

 

"I could have ignored him. I could have taken a walk, gone out for some air." 

 

Skinner nodded. 

 

"Yes, you could have. I believe that, next time, you will." 

 

Alex looked at the loathesome strap again. He looked helplessly at Skinner. 

 

"I don't want a strapping," he said fearfully. "I don't. I know I screwed up but I don't want that." 

 

Skinner nodded again. 

 

"I know, Alex," he said simply. "It's not pleasant, for the giver or the receiver. But that's why it's called punishment." 

 

Alex hesitated, his instincts telling him to get out, to leave. But his heart felt the pull of those kind brown eyes. Such gentleness in such a big man. The AD's stern face looked softer now, more open. The face of a man who wanted to help. He opened his mouth, unsure of what to say. 

 

"Sir, I—" 

 

"Agent Krycek," Skinner said gently. "I see something in you. I see your potential. But I also see a young man's hot temper, a reckless and impetuous streak that needs to be reined in. I want to help you to realize your potential, Alex. All you need is a little help getting there. Do you want to be a good agent, Alex?" 

 

Alex straightened his spine. 

 

"Yes, sir," he said with conviction. "I do. More...more than anything." He closed his eyes, the simple truth in that statement almost more than he could bear. 

 

Skinner stood, stepped closer to Alex. 

 

"I'm going to ask you a question, Alex," he said softly. "I don't want you to think about your answer. Just tell me the truth, and if the answer is no, then you can leave right now and we'll say no more about it. All right?" 

 

Alex nodded, his mouth dry. Skinner looked at him, his brown eyes solemn. 

 

"Do you believe that you are here today, with me, in my home, for your own good? That I am trying to help and guide you?" 

 

Alex stared at Skinner for a moment, then spoke, his voice breaking slightly. 

 

"Yes, sir." 

 

Skinner picked up the strap. 

 

"Then you agree to accept the punishment I have chosen for you?" 

 

Alex looked into Skinner's eyes and felt the tension drain away. He blinked back tears, touched by the sincerity, the concern on the older man's face. 

 

Alex stood in front of the desk, slid his shorts and boxers down, and bent over, gripping the sides tightly. 

 

"I'm ready, sir," he said. "Thank you, sir." 

 

As the first stroke blazed a line of fire across his bottom, he thanked Skinner again. He thanked him for each stroke, gasping the words out as the strap snapped down, scalding tears pouring down his cheeks. He didn't realize he was still saying it, even as Skinner lay the strap down and helped him to stand, then gathered him into his strong arms. 

 

Alex lay his head on Skinner's shoulder and wept. 

 

"Thank you, sir, thank you, th—" 

 

"Shhh," Skinner soothed. "It's all right, Alex. Cry it out." 

 

And he did. Cried out his loneliness and sorrow and gratitude. Felt Skinner's arms tighten around him, holding him close. 

 

 

Alex wasn't sure how long he stood there in Skinner's arms, only that the AD continued to hold him long after he stopped crying. Alex rested his cheek against the damp spot his tears had made, lulled into calm by the sound of Skinner's strong heartbeat. Such a safe, warm place, the circle Skinner's arms made around him, a place he never dreamed existed. Finally, Alex reluctantly raised his head. 

 

"Okay?" Skinner asked with concern. 

 

Alex scrubbed at his face with the back of his hand. 

 

"Yes, sir," he said, casting an embarrassed look at the dark spot on the front of Skinner's T-shirt. "Sorry." 

 

"Don't apologize," Skinner said. "You needed to let it out. You can always be honest with me. I'll always listen." 

 

Alex looked down, fresh tears stinging his eyes. 

 

"Thank you, sir." 

 

Skinner opened the door and led Alex into the hallway. 

 

"The guest bathroom is down the hall and to the left. Wash your face and then wait in the living room while I deal with Agent Mulder." 

 

Skinner waited as Mulder rose from the sofa and slowly walked over to him, ducking his head a little sheepishly as he followed Skinner into the office. Skinner closed the door. Alex went into the guest bathroom and turned on the cold water tap. He stared at his reflection in the mirror over the sink, at his reddened face, his puffy eyes. He splashed water on his face, drying it on one of the soft blue towels in the rack. He stood for a moment, the soft fabric against his face, and closed his eyes, thinking of Skinner's scent, the way his hands could be at once hard and soft, giving discipline, giving comfort. 

 

Alex walked into the living room, over to the window overlooking the city. He stood as far away as possible from Skinner's closed office door, wanting to give them their privacy. It soon became evident, however, that Mulder was very vocal when he was being punished. Alex's ears burned and he tried not to listen, but he couldn't help hearing Mulder's yelps and cries rising over the sound of the strap. Soon, there was silence, followed by muffled sobs. Alex knew Mulder was now standing where he had been standing moments before, Skinner's arms around him, inhabiting that rare forgiving space. 

 

Alex looked at the front door. He was tired. His ass hurt. By all accounts, he had about another twenty-one hours of "discipline" to go. He glanced at Skinner's office door, still closed, then at his own gym bag where it sat beside the sofa. He was a free adult. He could leave right now. Go home, take a catnap. Get up, order a pizza, hit the shower and then go out for a few drinks. 

 

Alex stood still for a moment, then bent and reached for the handles of his gym bag, his tender butt protesting the motion. Then he stopped, a faraway smile on his face. 

 

There was nowhere else he wanted to be. He sat down gingerly on the sofa to await the rest of his punishment. 

 

At length, Skinner's office door opened and Mulder was banished to the guest bathroom to wash his face. Skinner caught Alex's eye, the younger man flushing guiltily as that intense gaze seemed to see right through him. Skinner smiled as he passed by, the twinkle in his eye suggesting that he knew exactly what Alex had been thinking. Alex thought he saw pride in that smile. He decided he liked seeing that look on Skinner's face, wanted to give him cause to be proud. He filed it away in his memory for later, when he would be alone. 

 

Skinner stood at one end of the gleaming dining room table, a cheerful smile on his face. Alex and Mulder sat uncomfortably on the straightbacked chairs, eyeing the brand-new legal pads and ballpoint pens that lay before them with dread. Skinner selected several books from a pile on the sideboard and took his time, perusing them thoughtfully. His smile widened. Alex watched with a sinking heart as Skinner chose a particularly weighty tome and dropped the book on the table in front of Alex with an audible plop. 

 

"Agent Krycek," Skinner said brightly. "Would you be so kind as to read the title of this book? Out loud, if you please." 

 

"Conflict Resolution and You," read Alex in a small voice. He looked up at Skinner. "New edition, 1970?" 

 

Skinner patted Alex on the shoulder. 

 

"Sometimes the old ways are the best," he said with a grin. "And for you, Agent Mulder," he said merrily, depositing a thick, clothbound book on the table with a flourish. "Read the title, please." 

 

Mulder regarded the book warily. 

 

"Sensitivity in The Workplace," he read with a detectable lack of enthusiasm. He scowled and crossed his arms mutinously. 

 

"Somehow, sir, I doubt there's a chapter in this book addressing the proper response to one's partner having just been paddled by one's Assistant Director." 

 

Skinner arched an eyebrow. 

 

"I see, Agent Mulder," he said, his tone deceptively gentle. "Perhaps Agent Krycek will be able to assist you. Because I can promise you, if you don't adjust your attitude, he will be an expert on the subject." 

 

Mulder paled, suddenly very interested in the tabletop. 

 

"Sorry, sir," he mumbled. 

 

"I thought you'd see things my way," Skinner said amiably. He stepped through the connecting door into the kitchen, returning with a tray bearing a pitcher of iced water and two glasses. He placed the tray in the center of the table. 

 

"All right, gentlemen," he said firmly. "Open your books to chapter one and start writing. You will copy every word on every page and you will do it neatly and legibly. Sloppiness or skipping lines will result in your copying the entire chapter over again." 

 

He paused and waited while Alex and Mulder reluctantly opened their books, misery evident on their faces. He grinned again. 

 

"I advise you to give considerable thought to the words you are writing, Agents, and contemplate ways in which you can implement them in your daily lives." 

 

Alex and Mulder sat hunched over their books like recalcitrant schoolboys. Skinner had to chew the inside of his lip to keep from laughing at the perfect picture of misery their downcast faces made. Come on, Walt, he chided himself. Laugh now and you'll spoil this stern image you've spent so long perfecting. A few hours spent ruing their impetuous ways would do them good, he knew, but he couldn't help feeling a twinge of sympathy for them as they picked up their pens and began to write. 

 

Skinner remembered Mrs. Katz, his sixth grade English teacher, and her single-minded devotion to writing assignments as punishment. He had spent many long afternoons dolefully copying lines from some dreary grammar text, sure that by the end of the term, his pencil would be grafted to his hand. As the two dark heads bent over their legal pads, he gave them one more fond look and then left the room. 

 

"I'll be right here in the living room, Agents," he called as he rounded the corner, "and I don't want to hear any talking." 

 

Alex sighed and squirmed a little in his chair, his sore rear end making its dislike of the hard wood known. He flipped through the first few chapters of the book. The text was as dry as chalk and the author seemed to have taken sadistic glee in making the subject matter exponentially more stultifying as the book went on. Alex turned back to the first page and started writing. He knew they deserved to be punished, both of them, but the thought of the hours stretching before him, full of mindless tedium, made him want to scream. He put down his pen and ran his fingers through his hair. Only five lines into it and he was already about to lose his mind. 

 

"I don't hear pen on paper, Agent Krycek," came a deep voice from the doorway. "Perhaps you'd like to step into my office and discuss the importance of accepting the discipline offered to you?" 

 

Alex gulped. 

 

"N-no, sir," he said. He gave Skinner a pleading look. "But, sir, it's—" 

 

"Like watching paint dry, Agent? Watching grass grow? The single most tedious thing you've ever had to do?" 

 

Alex flushed. "Something like that, sir." 

 

Skinner smiled. 

 

"Well, you're absolutely right. Ten seconds of this would be enough to drive anybody stark raving mad. But," he added, not unkindly, "by your own admission, you made a mistake. You did something wrong and you're here today to do penance for that. Am I right?" 

 

"Yes, sir," Alex answered quietly, not looking up. Skinner stepped closer, his hands in his pockets. 

 

"When you came here today, Alex, did you come here with honest intentions?" 

 

Alex paled, looking at the AD in alarm. 

 

"Sir? I don't understand," he said nervously. "Wh-what do you mean?" 

 

"I mean," Skinner said patiently, "did you come here with a sincere desire to learn from this experience? To understand not only that you did something wrong, but why it was wrong? To learn an important lesson and to carry it with you when you leave here, so that you might not make the same mistake again? Did you come here with an open mind, hoping to benefit from the guidance I am attempting to give you?" 

 

Alex looked up into Skinner's eyes. 

 

"Yes, sir," he said firmly. 

 

Skinner's smile was warm and open. He placed a hand on Alex's shoulder. 

 

"So you see, Alex, that there is method in my madness? That even this seemingly mindless exercise has some purpose? That I am trying to give you some structure, some guidance so that you may be not only a better agent and a better partner, but a better man as well?" 

 

Alex nodded, unable to speak around the lump in his throat. Skinner gave his shoulder a squeeze and walked back to the doorway. 

 

"Good. Get to work, Agent. I want to see considerable progress when I check on you again." 

 

"Yes, sir," Alex said softly. He picked up his pen and began to write, trying to make the dull words mean something, trying to learn from them. 

 

One cannot hope to resolve conflicts successfully unless one is willing to listen. Often we are so intent on winning an argument that we forget to truly listen to the other person's point of view.... 

 

A cough from Mulder drew Alex's attention. Alex looked up. Mulder spoke without looking at Alex, concentrating on his work, filling line after line with his neat, flowing script. 

 

"He means it, you know. He does it because he cares." Serious hazel eyes raised from the half-filled page and focused on Alex. "He's really impressed with you. He sees something in you. In us both." 

 

Alex nodded numbly. Casting a nervous glance toward the doorway, he leaned closer to Mulder, finally giving voice to the question that had been nagging at him all day. 

 

"Mulder? Are there any others, besides us? That he..." 

 

"That he has an...arrangement with?" Mulder asked with a sardonic half-smile. "No. Only the two of us." 

 

Alex studied the lined paper before him, toying nervously with his pen. 

 

"Mulder," he began hesitantly. "Are you...I mean...this is something special, between you, and now..." he trailed off, unable to find the words to articulate his worry. 

 

"Does it bother me that he's decided to extend the same sort of offer to you?" 

 

Alex nodded, holding his breath for the answer. He wanted so much for Mulder to accept him, to stop treating him like the interloper he undoubtedly was. It seemed every time he was on the verge of a breakthrough, finding some common ground between them, Mulder retreated behind a wall of sarcasm and disdain. Alex knew Mulder felt he was taking Scully's place, intruding into something sacred and precious. Did he resent the attention the AD was giving Alex, too? Had this been something private and special between Mulder and Skinner, and now Alex was the unwanted tagalong? 

 

Mulder sat, deep in thought. Then he rested his intense gaze on Alex and spoke with characteristic bluntness. 

 

"Yeah, it bothered me at first," he admitted. "I guess I was kind of jealous. I liked being the only one he gave that extra attention to, you know? But," he paused and shrugged, "I've learned to talk to Skinner when something's bugging me. Nothing against you, you understand," he held up a placating hand. Alex nodded for Mulder to continue. "He and I had a long talk. He feels you need his help too and as for me, well, I...I know what it's like, being a rookie agent. I guess maybe you remind me a little of me when I was still wet behind the ears. Maybe if I'd had Skinner when I started out..." 

 

Skinner cleared his throat in the other room and Mulder hastily resumed writing. He gave Alex one last cockeyed grin before turning his attention back to his book. 

 

"Anyway, even though I hate this, and I damn sure hate having a sore ass, I...I like being cared for. I like that he gives a damn what I do. Just make sure you don't forget how lucky you are, and don't ever make him sorry he took a chance on you. Because if you do, you'll have to deal with me. Got it, kid?" 

 

Alex stared at him for a long moment, then lowered his eyes, hiding the pain in them. 

 

"Yeah," he answered softly. "I got it." 

 

The hours passed with agonizing slowness. Alex wavered between a steadfast commital to impress Skinner with his diligence and a smoldering resentment toward the smiling AD. Alex scowled and flexed his hand as Skinner came into refill the water pitcher. He felt ridiculous. He was twenty-six years old, for God's sake, and here he sat, copying lines like a little boy in disgrace. He caught the smile on Skinner's face and realized that he was pouting. 

 

"Put that lip away, Agent Krycek," Skinner said as he rifled through Alex's legal pad, checking the work Alex had already done. "You don't want to get ink on it." 

 

Alex's scowl deepened. He had half-decided to flee the room when Skinner handed him the legal pad and said, "Very good, Alex. I know this is unpleasant, but...Agent Mulder?" 

 

"That's why they call it punishment," Mulder said, his own pout rivaling Alex's. He handed Skinner his own legal pad and cringed a little as the AD pointed out a few places where his handwriting really could have been a little neater. 

 

Alex could have sobbed with relief when Skinner finally called them for lunch. Both men were grateful to leave the dining room for the relative cheerfulness of the breakfast nook. Alex drank deeply from the glass of real brewed iced tea and all three men made short work of the simple meal of vegetable soup and cold roast beef sandwiches that the AD had prepared. 

 

After lunch, back to the books. Alex considered weeping, wailing and gnashing of teeth if only it would free him from Conflict Resolution and You. 

 

Three ink-stained hours later, and Skinner finally took pity on them. Alex and Mulder took great pleasure in unceremoniously dumping the hated books on the sideboard as they followed Skinner into the living room. It was nearing dusk as they were herded into the elevator, down into the lobby and out onto the sidewalk. Mulder seemed to know what Skinner had planned but Alex was clueless, walking along behind them, just enjoying the fresh air. He was so grateful to be free of the confines of the dining room that he was unconcerned about what the AD had in store for them. His stomach lurched as he remembered the second strapping due him after dinner, but he quickly put the thought aside, trying to forget it for the time being. 

 

Alex looked up in surprise as they stopped, a few blocks away, in front of a school. Skinner led the way around to the back, where a neatly lined track lay empty. Alex and Mulder followed him through the gate and inside, where Skinner made himself comfortable halfway up a row of bleachers. 

 

"All right, gentlemen," he said. "We've worked on your minds, now it's time to work on your bodies again. Let's have some laps, please. I'll let you know when you can stop." 

 

Alex looked up, puzzled. But Mulder loved to run. Alex wasn't much of a runner but he did enjoy physical activity. A chance to run in the fresh air after being cooped up in the dining room all afternoon seemed a treat more so than a punishment. 

 

Skinner grinned. Mulder was already halfway around the track, coltish legs pumping eagerly. The AD looked down at Alex, once again seeming to know exactly what he was thinking. 

 

"It doesn't all have to be sackcloth and ashes, Agent. I know you might enjoy the chance to work off some of that pent-up energy. Go on. It'll do you good. If there's any doubt in your mind that you're still being punished, we'll rectify that after dinner tonight." 

 

Alex swallowed hard and jogged onto the track. 

 

He lost count of the laps after the first ten, and it was after dark when Skinner called them over. They put on their jackets to guard against the night chill and walked back to Viva Tower. No one said much, all three were deep in thought, the two younger men thinking of what was to come after dinner with growing apprehension. Skinner glanced at them, their faces serious in the moonlight, and wondered what they would think if they knew how much he dreaded it too. 

 

Skinner prepared dinner while Mulder and Alex were packed off to separate bathrooms to shower. They emerged in clean shorts and shirts, their hair damp, surprised to find that Skinner had laid a buffet of sorts on the coffee table in the living room. 

 

"I figured Chinese would be a universal favorite," Skinner explained as he handed them each a plate. "The delivery boy just left so it's piping hot. " He gestured toward the widescreen television in one corner of the room. "There's a hockey game on tonight, I thought we could enjoy it while we eat dinner." 

 

Alex and Mulder nodded their enthusiastic agreement and piled their plates high. Soon all three were lost in the game, cheering lustily around mouths full of sweet and sour chicken and egg rolls as the Capitals scored another goal. Alex picked up one of the white cartons from the coffee table, using his chopsticks to fish out a plump steamed dumpling. Skinner and Mulder were loudly debating the skills of the Capitals' goalie and Alex found himself joining in, arguing happily. He paused, watching their faces, and truly felt a part of things, truly accepted, for the first time. At this moment, they weren't a boss and his subordinates. They were just three men, sharing each other's company, enjoying a meal and a hockey game. It was easy to forget Skinner's role as disciplinarian and just see him as a friend, a mentor. Alex watched as Skinner laughed at one of Mulder's jokes, his head thrown back, his eyes alight with happiness. Alex smiled and dug into his food. Skinner was right, he thought. This too has meaning. 

 

The mood turned somber after dinner. Skinner turned the television off after the post-game show and Alex helped him carry the dirty dishes to the kitchen. He and Mulder waited, fidgeting nervously, as Skinner quickly rinsed the dishes and stacked them in the dishwasher, then thriftily packed away the leftovers. 

 

Skinner came out of the kitchen, back in full AD mode, and the after-dinner strappings were handled quickly and efficiently. Alex was first. Skinner closed the door, leaving Mulder waiting in the living room. Alex stood, his hands behind his back, fingers twisting nervously. 

 

"I know you know what this punishment is for, Alex." the AD said quietly. "We discussed it at length this morning." 

 

"Yes, sir," Alex said. He fumbled with the button, then slid his shorts and boxers down, bending over the desk. His legs trembled. He alternately dreaded and welcomed the first swish of the strap. The sooner they got started, the sooner it would be over. 

 

He heard Skinner take up position behind him. 

 

"I want you to think about what you've learned here today, Alex," Skinner said softly. "I want you to carry the lesson inside you and remember it. I want you to remember, too, that I care about you. I care too much for you to let you behave this way. I'm not going to let your youth and inexperience jeopardize your career and your future. You must learn to control your temper. The FBI is no place for displays of childish pique." 

 

"No, sir," Alex whispered. He gripped the desk tightly as the first stroke blazed across his bare backside. 

 

"Ow!" he yelped. 

 

"Settle down, Agent," Skinner admonished dryly. "We're just getting started here." 

 

Skinner laid them down fast and even, barely giving Alex time to draw a breath in between. By the last stroke he was gasping and sobbing, knowing Mulder could probably hear him but too far gone to care. He all but collapsed in Skinner's arms, clinging to the older man for life. 

 

"I'm sorry, sir, I'm sorry, I'm sorry," he cried, hiding his face in shame. "I disappointed you, I let you down, I'm sorry..." 

 

Skinner cupped the back of Alex's neck, the warm weight of his hand reassuring and soothing. 

 

"It's all right, Alex," he said quietly. "I know you're sorry. I know. It's over for now. Take a deep breath." 

 

Alex clutched at Skinner's shirt, heard what he was saying with growing horror but couldn't stop himself. He raised his head and looked into Skinner's eyes. 

 

"You don't understand," he said, his voice shaking. "I'm sorry. I am. I'm so sorry, sir." He looked down, miserably, tears dripping off his chin. 

 

Skinner looked at him for a moment, puzzled. Obviously, the young man was overwrought. He needed to know this wasn't the end of the world. He tipped Alex's chin up, forcing the anguished green eyes to meet his. 

 

"It's all right, Agent. You've done well today and I'm proud of you. I know it wasn't all pleasant but you've done everything I've asked. I know you sincerely want to improve as an agent and as a person, and I'm always here for you. You're a good man, Alex. You just need someone to believe in you. I believe." 

 

Alex was stunned silent for a moment, then buried his head in the AD's chest and bawled. 

 

After Mulder's strapping, the punishment was over for the night. Mulder was delighted to find an all-night MonsterThon on channel 9 and soon forgot his sore butt as he munched popcorn and enlightened Alex and Skinner on the groundbreaking use of irony in "The Attack of the 50 Foot Woman". 

 

Later that night, Alex lay on the couch, Mulder having claimed the guest room by dint of seniority. The AD had fussed over him, making sure he had plenty of blankets and an extra pillow, and Alex was comfortable despite his aching backside. It alternately stung and burned, but he was almost glad for the pain, a tangible reminder of Skinner's words. You just need someone to believe in you. 

 

I believe. 

 

He thought of Skinner, asleep upstairs, Mulder, asleep down the hall. Had he heard footsteps on the stairs earlier as he lay, half-dozing? Had he heard Skinner's bedroom door close a second time? Or had he dreamed it? His cock began to lift its head, eager to get in on the fantasy brewing in Alex's mind, but he forced himself to think of something else. He thought about leaving tomorrow, going back to his empty apartment. Thought about what awaited him there. 

 

It was enough. His cock settled all too quickly and Alex drifted into an uneasy sleep. 

 

Skinner woke them early for breakfast, cereal and fruit served on the balcony. He did not make them wait for the final phase of their punishment. Alex remained on the balcony, toying nervously with the last of his cereal as Mulder took his final ten strokes. It seemed to take longer than usual, and Alex decided to help Skinner out by clearing the breakfast table and putting the dishes in the dishwasher. He was just finishing when Mulder appeared in the kitchen doorway, his eyes red and puffy from crying. He had his gym bag over one shoulder. 

 

"See you Monday," he said, giving Alex a brief smile. 

 

"Sure," Alex said, drying his hands on the dishcloth. He glanced away, unsure of what to say. "You okay?" 

 

"Yeah," Mulder shrugged. "I've had worse. I guess when I sit down the rest of the weekend it'll remind me to stay on Skinner's good side." 

 

They both laughed as Skinner walked in. He placed a firm hand on Mulder's shoulder but his eyes were dancing. 

 

"And how do you go about doing that, Agent Mulder?" he asked wryly. 

 

"By remembering the lesson, sir," Mulder said, looking up at Skinner through his lashes. "By making you proud." 

 

"That's it," Skinner said, beaming. "Get out of here, Agent. Enjoy the rest of your weekend." 

 

"Yes, sir," Mulder replied, heading for the door. "See you, sir, Alex!" 

 

The door closed behind him, leaving Skinner and Alex alone. Alex looked at the AD nervously. 

 

"Well, Agent Krycek," Skinner said. "I suggest we get this over with." 

 

"Yes, sir." 

 

Skinner left the office door open this time, as there was no one there to hear. 

 

"Go on, Alex. The sooner we get started, the sooner we're done." He waited while Alex lowered his pants and got into position, then picked up the strap. 

 

"I really do hate having to do this, Alex. I hope you believe that." 

 

"Yes, sir," Alex whispered, his cheek against the desk. He truly did believe it. Skinner always seemed to hesitate before he picked up the strap, as though he loathed the very feel of it in his hand. 

 

Skinner raised the strap and paused. 

 

"Tell me what you've learned this weekend, Alex." 

 

Alex took a deep breath. 

 

"I...I learned that...that you care, sir. That you give a damn what happens to me. That the way I behave now impacts my future at the Bureau and it reflects on you as my superior. I learned that I have to control my temper, that I have to learn not to be impulsive. I've learned...I've learned that I'm lucky to have you as my AD, sir." 

 

Silence. Finally Skinner spoke, his voice roughened by some unnamed emotion. 

 

"I'm glad, Alex. I know it wasn't easy for you to come here this weekend. I know there were times over the last twenty-four hours when you probably didn't like me very much. But it's important to me that you realize that all of this is for your own good. That I'm punishing you because I care and because I believe you can do better." 

 

"Yes, sir," Alex said. He closed his eyes and waited for the first stroke. 

 

His bottom was still sore from the previous night's strapping and so the first stroke had his eyes stinging. He gritted his teeth and rode it out, but was puzzled when Skinner stopped after only five strokes. 

 

Alex lifted his head. 

 

"Sir?" 

 

"Stand up, please, Alex," Skinner said. 

 

Alex obeyed, hastily pulling up his shorts and boxers, bending slightly to hide the evidence of the bold interest his cock was taking in the proceedings. 

 

Skinner sat in one of the wing chairs and looked at Alex seriously. 

 

"Do you remember me telling you that, as the instigator of the physical altercation that occurred in your office, you would receive an additional punishment?" 

 

Alex shivered a little and lowered his eyes. 

 

"Y-yes, sir." 

 

Skinner continued. 

 

"Do you agree that you behaved childishly, and attacked your partner without reason? That an adult should be able to rise above another person's laughing at them, and not resort to physical violence?" 

 

Alex stared down at his gym shoes. 

 

"Yes, sir," he whispered. 

 

"Very well, then. I think you'll agree that some of the punishments this weekend have been somewhat childish in nature. That was deliberate on my part, and I think, a highly effective way of dealing with what was a childish act." 

 

"Yes, sir." Alex shifted from foot to foot, unsure where Skinner was going with this. Skinner saw the bewilderment on the young agent's face and continued. 

 

"As you and I are in agreement that you behaved childishly, you will receive a child's punishment. You will take your final five strokes over my knee, and receive an additional five for attacking your partner." 

 

Alex was stunned. The blood seemed to rush from his tender rear end to his face, making it fairly glow with embarrassment. He tried to swallow, his dry throat making a clicking noise. 

 

"Sir, I—" 

 

Skinner raised an eyebrow. 

 

"Accept the punishment, Agent, or don't. I will not force you. It's your decision." 

 

Alex hesitated. He remembered his fantasy, himself over Skinner's knee, knew what kind of reaction it had provoked. He couldn't deny, even though he knew Skinner was in earnest, what an erotic scenario this was. His cock began its inconvenient stirring again. 

 

"Sir, I...I don't..." 

 

Skinner took pity on the flustered young man. 

 

"In case you're wondering, Alex, I've punished Agent Mulder in this way on more than one occasion. He too finds it...unnerving and that's understandable. I wouldn't suggest it if I didn't think it appropriate under the circumstances." 

 

Alex took a step forward, then stopped. He bit his lip, looking helplessly at Skinner. 

 

"Do you trust me?" Skinner asked simply. 

 

Alex made his decision. His eyes shut tight in his scarlet face, he eased his shorts and underwear down again and felt Skinner's hands guiding him into position across the strong thighs. 

 

"I'm going to start now, Alex," Skinner said gently. "You don't have to count them out, but I do want you to think again what this punishment is for. I hope we don't have to do this again." 

 

"No, sir," Alex whispered. He felt so vulnerable, with his bare butt in the air, high over Skinner's knee. His cock began to fill and Alex moaned involuntarily, mortified. Surely Skinner could feel his hardness pressing against his leg! As if in response, Skinner lifted Alex slightly and repositioned him so that his cock and balls fell into the space between Skinner's denim-clad thighs. Alex almost wanted to whimper at the loss of friction, but decided he was grateful he wouldn't have the added humiliation of coming all over the AD's leg. 

 

Skinner brought the strap down hard, eliciting a startled squeak from the young man across his lap. He spanked Alex swiftly and firmly, keeping one hand on the small of Alex's back to keep him anchored as he began to kick fruitlessly. 

 

"Ow, ow, sir, please!" Alex moaned, despite his resolve to stay quiet and take his punishment like a man. "I'm sorry, please, sir, I've learned, I swear I have!" 

 

"Three more, Alex," Skinner said calmly. He brought the strap down three times, crisscrossing the reddened buttocks, then tossed it aside. 

 

Alex lay across Skinner's lap, limp and sobbing. He wouldn't have been surprised to see flames leaping from the blazing skin of his backside. Carefully, Skinner helped him to sit up, wincing in sympathy at the hiss of pain Alex emitted as his sore butt touched Skinner's jeans. Alex stood and slowly pulled up his shorts, sniffling. He turned away, embarrassed at his loss of composure, but strong hands turned him back around. 

 

"Come on," Skinner said softly. "This part isn't optional." 

 

He drew Alex into his arms, just as he had before, but this time, Alex seemed reluctant. He stood stiffly, unwilling or unable to look Skinner in the eye. 

 

"Alex?" Skinner said with concern. "What is it?" 

 

Alex shook his head, trying to fight the renewed flow of tears. His hands clenched and unclenched as he visibly tried to get himself under control. 

 

"Please tell me, Alex. Is it the spanking?" 

 

Alex shook his head, trying to contain the sobs threatening to rack his slender frame. Finally, he raised an anguished face to Skinner, his green eyes overflowing with tears. 

 

"It's just...no one's ever...I...I never had anyone care like this, sir. No one. I—" he broke off, crying as though his heart would break. Skinner enfolded him in his arms and rocked him gently. 

 

"It's all right, Alex. I do care. I'm always here for you." 

 

Alex looked up, his eyes streaming. 

 

"Thank you, sir," he gasped. "Thank you. I wish I..." he looked down again suddenly. 

 

"What is it, Alex? Tell me," Skinner urged, his face worried. 

 

Alex shook his head. 

 

"It's nothing, sir, honestly," he mumbled, his heart pounding in his chest, shaking with the shock of what he had almost told the AD. 

 

Skinner fell silent, leaving Alex to his thoughts. Wanting the younger man to trust him enough to share whatever was bothering him, trust him the way Mulder did. 

 

Finally, Alex's sobs tapered off, and he wiped his face and adjusted his clothing. Skinner looked at him. Alex still seemed troubled by something. 

 

"It's over now," Skinner said quietly. "It's over and forgotten. You know that, don't you?" 

 

"Yes, sir," Alex whispered. 

 

"Alex, I hope you know that you can tell me anything," Skinner said, looking into the younger man's eyes. "There's nothing that you can't come to me and tell me, nothing I won't do my best to help you with." 

 

"Thank you, sir," Alex blurted and rushed from the room. He grabbed his gym bag. Skinner stood by the front door, watching Alex with worried brown eyes. 

 

Alex stood clutching his gym bag nervously, as had when he had arrived the night before. 

 

"I'm sorry, sir," he said, ashamed. "I...I guess it's just emotional for me, all of this. I'm all right." 

 

Skinner smiled, though the worry did not leave his eyes. Something was obviously eating at Alex, but whatever it was, Skinner was going to have to work harder to earn his trust before he would feel comfortable enough to share it. He squeezed Alex's shoulder gently. 

 

"You have the number here, Alex. Don't hesitate to call if you need me. I'll see you in the office on Monday." 

 

"Yes, sir," Alex opened the door. He turned to look at Skinner again, his eyes clouded with some fleeting emotion. "Thank you, sir. For everything." 

 

"You're welcome, Agent," Skinner replied. 

 

Alex walked for two blocks before the sleek black car pulled up alongside him. The back door slowly swung open. He hesitated, then climbed in. 

 

The smell of cigarette smoke was overwhelming in the closed-in space. Spender regarded him with hard, glittering eyes as he lit another Morley, blowing the smoke in Alex's face. 

 

"So," Spender said, his voice oily and menacing. "It seems you have won their trust." 

 

Alex swallowed hard and closed his eyes, unable to bear the sight of the old man. 

 

"Yes, sir," he said softly. "Yes I have." 

 

The End


End file.
